FROM    THE   LIBRARY   OF 
REV.    LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON,   D.  D. 

BEQUEATHED    BY    HIM    TO 

THE    LIBRARY   OF 

PRINCETON   THEOLOGICAL   SEMINARY 


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THE   LIFE   AND   LETTERS 


ELIZABETH     PRENTISS 


AUTHOR  OF 

Sl^EPPIXG    HEAVENWARD 


NEW  YORK 
ANSON    D.    F.    RANDOLPH   &    COMPANY 

38  West  Twentv-tuikd  Stkekt 


COPYRIGHT, 

Bv  George  L.  Prentiss 
1882. 


nnwAun  o.  jknkins, 

Printer  and  Siereoiy/'er, 

20  North  William  Street,  New  York. 


This  memoir  was  undertaken  at  the  request  of  many  of  Mrs 
Prentiss'  old  and  most  trusted  friends,  who  felt  that  the  story 
of  her  life  should  be  given  to  the  public.     Much  of  it  is  in  the 
nature  of  an  autobiography.     Her  letters,  which  with  extracts 
from  her  journals  form  the  larger  portion  of  its  contents,  begin 
when  she  was  in  her  twentieth  year,  and  continue  almost  to 
her  last  hour.     They  are  full  of  details  respecting  herself,  her 
home,  her  friends,  and  the  books  she  wrote.     A  simple  narra- 
tive, inter- perscd  with  personal  reminiscences,  and  varied  by  a 
sketch  of  her  father,  and  passing  notices  of  others,  who  exerted 
a  moulding  influence  upon  her  character,  completes  the  story 
A  picture  is  thus  presented  of  the  life  she  lived  and  its  chang- 
ing scenes,  both  on  the  natural  and  the  spiritual  side.     While 
the  work  may  fail  to  interest  some  readers,  the  hope  is  cher- 
ished  that,  like  Stepping  Heavenward,  it  will  be  welcomed 
into  Christian   homes  and   prove  a  blessing  to  many  hearts  ; 
thus  realising  the  desire  expressed  in  one  of  her  last  letters  : 
Much  of  my  experience  of  life  has  cost  me  a  great  price  and  I  wish 

to  use  it  for  strengthening  and  comforting  other  souls.  ^ 

G.  L.  P» 

Kauinfels    Septeynber  ii,  18S2. 

3 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER   I. 

THE    CHILD    AND    THE    GIRL. 

1818-1839. 

I. 

Birth-place  and  Ancestry.  The  Payson  Family.  Seth  Payson.  Edward 
Payson.  His  Mother.  A  Sketch  of  his  Life  and  Character.  The 
Fervor  of  his  Piety.  Despondent  Moods,  and  their  Causes.  His 
bright,  natural  Traits.  How  he  prayed  and  preached.  Conversa- 
tional Gift.     Love  to  Christ.     Triumphant  Death I 

IL 

Birth  and  Childhood  of  Elizabeth  Payson.  Early  Traits.  Devotion  to 
her  Father.  His  Influence  upon  her.  Letters  to  her  Sister.  Re- 
moval to  New  York.     Reminiscences  of  the  Payson  Family 9 

in. 

Recollections  of  Elizabeth's  Girlhood  by  an  early  Friend  and  School- 
mate. Her  own  Picture  of  herself  before  her  Father's  Death. 
Favorite  Resorts.  Why  God  permits  so  much  Suffering.  Literary 
Tastes.  Letters.  "What  are  Little  Babies  For  .^  "  Opens  a  School. 
Religious  Interest '  ^ 

IV. 

The  dominant  Type  of  Religious  Life  and  Thought  in  New  England 
in  the  First  Half  of  this  Century.  Literary  Influences.  Letter  of 
Cyrus  Hamlin.     A  strange  Coincidence 26 


VI  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER   II. 

THE    NEW    LIFE    IN    CHRIST. 

1 840-1 841. 

I. 

A  memorable  Experience.  Letters  to  her  Cousin.  Goes  to  Richmond 
as  a  Teacher.     Mr.  Persico's  School.     Letters 3c 

IL 

Her  Character  as  a  Teacher.  Letters.  Incidents  of  School  Life.  Re- 
ligious Struggles,  Aims,  and  Hope.  Oppressive  Heat  and  Weari- 
ness      ^2 

III. 

Extracts  from  her  Richmond  Journal ^q 

CHAPTER   HI. 

PASSING  FROM   GIRLHOOD   INTO   WOMANHOOD. 

1841-1845. 

I. 

At  Home  Again.  Marriage  of  her  Sister.  Ill-health.  Letters.  Spirit- 
ual Aspiration  and  Conflict.  Perfectionism.  "  Very,  Very  Happy." 
Work  for  Christ  what  makes  Life  attractive.  Passages  from  her 
Journal.     A  Point  of  Difficulty ^^ 

II. 

Returns  to  Richmond.  Trials  There.  Letters.  Illness.  School  Ex- 
periences. "Tothe  Yeari843."  Glimpses  of  her  daily  Life.  Why 
her  Scholars  love  her  So.  Homesick.  A  Black  Wedding.  What 
a  Wife  should  be.     "  A  Presentiment."    Notes  from  her  Diary. 


73 


III. 


Her  Views  of  Love  and  Courtship.  Visit  of  her  Sister  and  Child.  Let- 
ters. Sickness  and  Death  of  Friends.  Ill-health.  Undergoes  a 
surgical  Operation.     Her  Fortitude.     Study  of  German.     Fenelon.     81 


CONTENTS.  VI! 

CHAPTER   IV. 

THE   YOUNG   WIFE   AND   MOTHER. 

1 845-1 850. 

I. 

Marriage  and  Settlement  in  New  Bedford.  Reminiscences.  Letters. 
Birth  of  her  First  Child.     Death  of  her   Sister-in-Law.       Letters . .     95 

n. 

Birth  of  a  Son.  Death  of  her  Mother.  Her  Grief.  Letters.  Eddy's 
lUness  and  her  own  Cares.  A  Family  Gathering  at  Newburyport. 
Extracts  from  Eddy's  Journal 


II 


UL 
Further  Extracts  from  Eddy's  Journal.     Ill-Health.     Visit  to  Newark. 
Death  of  her  Brother-in-Law,  S.  S.  Prentiss.     His  Character.     Re- 
moval to  Newark.     Letters ^  ^^ 


CHAPTER   V. 

IN   THE   SCHOOL   OF   SUFFERING. 
185I-1858. 

L 

Removal  to  New  York,  and  first  Summer  there.  Letters.  Loss  of 
Sleep  and  Anxiety  about  Eddy.  Extracts  from  Eddy's  Journal, 
Describing  his  last  Illness  and  Death.  Lines  entitled,  "  To  iMy 
Dying  Eddy." ^-7 

n. 

Birth  of  her  Third  Child.  Reminiscences  of  a  Sabbath  Evening 
Talk.  Story  of  the  Baby's  Sudden  Illness  and  Death.  Summer  of 
1852.     Lines  entitled,  "  My  Nursery." '33 

HI. 
Summer  at  White  Lake.  Sudden  Death  of  her  Cousin,  Miss  Shipman. 
Quarantined.  Lz/f/e  S7(s/s  S/v  Birthdays.  How  she  wrote  it. 
The  Flower  of  the  Fa?nily.  Her  Motive  in  Writing  it.  Letter  of 
Sympathy  to  a  bereaved  Mother.  A  Summer  at  the  Seaside. 
Henry  ajid  Bessie 3 


VllI  CONTENTS. 

IV. 

A  memorable  Year.  Lines  on  the  Anniversary  of  Eddy's  Death.  Ex- 
tracts from  her  Journal.  Little  Susys  Six  Teachers.  The  Teach- 
ers' Meeting.  A  New  York  Waif.  Summer  in  the  Country.  Let- 
ters. Little  Sicsfs  Little  Servajtts.  Extracts  from  her  Journal. 
"  Alone  with  God,".   143 

V. 

Ready  for  new  Trials.  Dangerous  Illness.  Extracts  from  her  Jour- 
nal. Visit  to  Greenwood.  Sabbath  Meditations.  Birth  of  another 
Son.  Her  Husband  resigns  his  Pastoral  Charge.  Voyage  to 
Europe 155 

CHAPTER   VL 

IN   RETREAT  AMONG  THE   ALPS. 
1858-1860. 

L 

Life  Abroad.  Letters  about  the  Voyage,  and  the  Journey  from  Havre 
to  Switzerland,  Chateau  d'Oex.  Letters  from  there.  The  Chalet 
Rosat.   The  Free  Church  of  the  Canton  de  Vaud,   Pastor  Panchaud.  160 

IL 

Montreux.  The  Swiss  Autumn,  Castle  of  Chillon.  Death  and  Sor- 
row of  Friends  at  Home.     Twilight  Talks.     Spring  Flowers 170 

HL 
The  Campagne  Genevrier.     Vevay.     Beauty  of  the  Region.     Birth  of 
a   Son.     Visit    from    Professor   Smith.      Excursion    to    Chamouni. 
Whooping-cough  and  Scarlet-fever  among  the  Children.     Doctor 
Curchod.     Letters 1 76 

IV. 
Paris.     Sight-seeing.    A  sick  Friend.    London  and  its  Environs.     The 
Queen  and  Prince  Albert.     The  Isle  of  Wight.     Homeward 189 

CHAPTER   VIL 

THE  STRUGGLE  WITH   ILL-HEALTH. 
1861-1865. 

L 

At  Home  again  in  New  York.  The  Church  of  the  Covenant.  Increas- 
ing  Ill-heallh,     The  Summer  of  1861.     Death  of   Louisa  Payson 


CONTENTS.  IX 

Hopkins.     Extracts  from  her  Journal.     Summer  of  1862.     Letters. 
Despondency 201 

II. 

Another  care-worn  Summer.  Letters  from  Williamstown  and  Rocka- 
way.  Hymn  on  Laying  the  Corner-stone  of  the  Church  of  the 
Covenant 21a 

III. 

Happiness  in  her  Children.  The  Summer  of  1864.  Letters  from  Hun- 
ter.    Affliction  among  Friends 217 

IV. 

D-Kith  of  President  Lincoln.  Dedication  of  the  Church  of  the  Cove- 
nant. Growing  Insomnia.  Resolves  to  try  the  Water-cure.  Its 
beneficial  Effects.  Summer  at  Newburgh.  Reminiscences  of  an 
Excursion  to  Palz  Point.  Death  of  her  Husband's  Mother.  Fu- 
neral of  her  Nephew,  Edward  Payson  Hopkins 223 


CHAPTER   VIH. 

THE   pastor's   wife  AND    DAUGHTER   OF  CONSOLATION. 
1866-1868. 

I. 

Happiness  as  a  Pastor's  Wife.  Visits  to  Newport  and  Williamstown. 
Letters.  The  Great  Portland  Fire.  First  Summer  at  Dorset.  The 
new  Parsonage  occupied.  Second  Summer  at  Dorset.  Little 
Loiis  Sayings  and  Doings.  Project  of  a  Cottage.  Letters.  The 
Little  Preacher,  Illness  and  Death  of  Mrs.  Edward  Payson  and 
of  Little  Francis -. 23c 

II. 

Last  Visit  from  Mrs.  Steams.  Visits  to  old  Friends  at  Newport  and 
Rochester.  Letters.  Goes  to  Dorset.  Fred  and  Maria  and  Me. 
Letters 238 

III. 

Return  to  Town.  Death  of  an  old  Friend.  Letters  and  Notes  of  Love 
and  Sympathy.  An  Old  Ladies'  Party.  Scenes  of  Trouble  and 
Dying  Beds.     Fifty  Years  Old.     Letters 248 


X  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    IX. 

STEPPING   HEAVENWARD. 

1869, 

I. 

Death  of  Mrs.  Stearns.  Her  Character.  Dangerous  Illness  of  Prof. 
Smith.  Death  at  the  Parsonage.  Letters.  A  Visit  to  Vassar  Col- 
lege. Letters.  Getting  ready  for  the  General  Assembly.  "  Gates 
Ajar  " 261 

II. 

How  she  earned  her  Sleep.  Writing  for  young  Converts  about  speak- 
ing the  Truth.  Meeting  of  the  General  Assembly  in  the  Church 
of  the  Covenant.  Reunion,  D.D.'s,  and  Strawberry  Short-cake. 
"  Enacting  the  Tiger."     Getting  Ready  for  Dorset.     Letters 27c 

III. 

The  new  Home  in  Dorset.  What  it  became  to  her.  Letters  from 
there   


274 


IV. 


Return  to  Town.  Domestic  Changes.  Letters.  "  My  Heart  sides  with 
God  in  everything."  Visiting  among  the  Poor.  "  Conflict  isn't 
Sin."  Publication  of  Stepping  Heavejiward.  Her  Misgivings 
about  it.  How  it  was  received.  Reminiscences  by  Miss  E.  A. 
Warner.     Letters.     The  Rev.  Wheelock  Craig 277 

V. 
Recollections  by  Mrs.  Henry  B.  Smith 288 


CHAPTER    X. 

ON     THE     MOUNT. 

1870. 

I. 

A.  happy  Year.     Madame  Guyon.     What  sweetens  the  Cup  of  earth- 
ly Trials  and  the  Cup   of  earthly  Joy.     Death  of  Mrs.  Julia  B. 


CONTENTS.  .Xi 

Cady.  Her  Usefulness.  Sickness  and  Death  of  other  Friends. 
"My  Cup  runneth  over."  Letters.  "More  Love  to  Thee,  O 
Christ " 29a 

n. 

Her  Silver  Wedding.  ** I  have  lived,  I  have  loved.'*  No  Joy  can  put 
her  out  of  Sympathy  with  the  Trials  of  Friends.  A  Glance  back- 
ward. Last  Interview  with  a  dying  Friend.  More  Love  and  more 
Likeness  to  Christ.  Funeral  of  a  little  Baby.  Letters  to  Christian 
Friends yx. 

in. 

Lines  on  going  to  Dorset.  A  Cloud  over  her.  Faber's  Life.  Loving 
Friends  for  one's  own  sake  and  loving  them  for  Christ's  sake.  The 
Bible  and  the  Christian  Life.  Dorset  Society  and  Occupations. 
Counsels  to  a  young  Friend  in  Trouble.  "Don't  stop  praying  for 
your  Life  ! "  Cure  for  the  Heart-sickness  caused  by  the  Sight  of 
human  Imperfections.  Fenelon's  Teaching  about  Humiliation  and 
being  patient  with  Ourselves 3^7 

IV. 

The  Story  Lizzie  Told.  Country  and  City.  The  Law  ot  Christian 
Progress.  Letters  to  a  Friend  bereft  of  three  Children.  Sudden 
Death  of  another  Friend.  "  Go  on  ;  step  faster."  Fenelon  and  his 
Influence  upon  her  religious  Life.  Lines  on  her  Indebtedness  to 
him 314 


CHAPTER    XI. 

IN    HER    HOME. 

L 

Home-life  in  New  York 3^2 

XL 
Home-life  in  Dorset 34^ 

III. 
Further  Glimpses  of  her  Dorset  Life 35^ 


^^  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    XII. 

THE  TRIAL   OF    FAITH. 

1871-1872. 

I. 

Two  Years  of  Suffering.  Its  Nature  and  Causes.  Spiritual  Conflicts. 
Ill-health.  Faith  a  Gift  to  be  won  by  Prayer.  Death-bed  of  Dr 
Skinner.  Visit  to  Philadelphia.  "Daily  Food."  How  to  read  the 
Bible  so  as  to  love  it  more.  Letters  of  Sympathy  and  Counsel. 
"Prayer  for  Holiness  brings  Suffering."  Perils  of  human  Friend- 
ship   


361 


II. 
Her  Husban^l  called  to  Chicago.  Lines  on  going  to  Dorset.  Letters 
to  young  Friends  on  the  Christian  Life.  Narrow  Escape  from 
Death.  Feeling  on  returning  to  Town.  Her  "  Praying  Circle  " 
The  Chicago  Fire.  The  true  Art  of  Living.  God  our  only  safe 
Teacher.     An    easily-besetting  Sin.     Counsels  to  young-  Friends 

Letters ^ 

373 

III. 

•'Holiness  and  Usefulness  go  hand-in-hand."  No  two  Souls  dealt 
with  exactly  alike.  Visits  to  a  stricken  Home.  Another  Side  of 
her  Life.  Visit  to  a  Hospital.  Christian  Friendship.  Letters  to  a 
bereaved  Mother.  Submission  not  inconsistent  with  Suffering 
Thoughts  at  the  Funeral  of  a  little  "  Wee  Davie."  Assurance  of 
Faith.     Funeral  of  Prof.  Hopkins.     His  Character , 385 

IV. 
Christian  Parents  to  expect  Piety  in  their  Children.     Perfection.     "  Peo- 
ple make  too  much  Parade  of  their  Troubles."     "Higher  Life" 
Doctrines.     Letter  to  Mrs.  Washburn.     Last  Visit  to  Williamstown  394 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

PEACEABLE     FRUIT. 

1 873- 1 874. 

I. 

Effect  of  spiritual   Conflict  upon  her  religious  Life.     Overflowing  Af- 
fections.    Her  Husband   called  to  Union  Theological  Seminary. 


CONTENTS.  xm 

Baptism  t  f  Suffering.  The  Character  of  her  Friendships.  No  per- 
fect Life.  Prayer.  "  Only  God  can  satisfy  a  Woman."  Why 
human  Friendship  is  a  Snare.     Letters 399 

II. 

Goes  to  Dorset.  Christian  Example.  At  Work  among  her  Flowers. 
Dangerous  Illness.  Her  Feeling  about  Dying.  Death  an  "  Invita- 
tion "  from  Christ.  "  The  Under-current  bears  Home,''  "  More 
Love,  more  Love  ! "  A  Trait  of  Character.  Special  Mercies. 
What  makes  a  sweet  Home.     Letters 4^5 

in. 

Change  of  Home  and  Life  in  New  York.  A  Book  about  Robbie.  Her 
Sympathy  with  young  People.  "  I  have  in  me  two  different  Nat- 
ures," What  Dr.  De  Witt  said  at  the  Grave  of  his  Wife.  The 
Way  to  meet  little  Trials.  Faults  in  Prayer-meetings.  How  special 
Theories  of  the  Christian  Life  are  formed.  Sudden  Illness  of  Prof. 
Smith.     Publication  of  Golden  Hours.     How  it  was  received 414 

IV. 

Incidents  of  the  Year  1874.  Starts  a  Bible-reading  in  Dorset.  Be- 
gins to  take  Lessons  in  Painting.  A  Letter  from  her  Teacher. 
Publication  of  Urbane  and  His  Friends.  Design  of  the  Work. 
Her  Views  of  the  Christian  Life.  The  Mystics.  The  Indwelling 
Christ.     An   Allegory 425 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

WORK     AND     PLAY. 

1875-1877. 

I. 

A  Bible-reading  in  New  York.  Her  Painting.  "  Grace  for  Grace." 
Death  of  a  young  Friend.  The  Summer  at  Dorset.  Bible-read- 
ings there.  Encompassed  with  Kindred.  Typhoid  Fever  in  the 
House.  Watching  and  Waiting.  The  Return  to  Town.  A  Day 
of  Family  Rejoicing.     Life  a  "  Battle-field  "  439 

IL 

The  Moody  and  Sankey  Meetings.  Her  Interest  in  them.  Mr.  Moody. 
Publication  of  Grisehia.  Goes  to  the  Centennial.  At  Dorset 
again.     Her  Bible-readings.     A  Moody-meeting  Convert.     Visit  to 


XIV  CONTENTS. 

Montreal.  Publication  of  The  Home  at  Greylock.  Her  Theory  of 
a  happy  Home.  Marrying  for  Love.  Her  Sympathy  with  young 
Mothers.     Letters 445 

III. 

The  Year  1877.  Death  of  her  Cousin,  the  Rev.  Charles  H.  Payson. 
Last  Illness  and  Death  of  Prof.  Smith.  "  Let  us  take  our  Lot  in 
Life  just  as  it  comes."  Adorning  one's  Home.  How  much  Time 
shall  be  given  to  it  ?  God's  Delight  in  His  beautiful  Creations. 
Death  of  Dr.  Buck.  Visiting  the  sick  and  bereaved.  An  Ill-turn. 
Goes  to  Dorset.  The  Strangeness  of  Life.  Kauinfels.  The  Bible- 
reading.     Letters 466 

IV. 

Return  to  Town.  Recollections  of  this  Period.  "Ordinary  "  Chris- 
tians and  Spiritual  Conflict.  A  tired  Sunday  Evening.  "  We  may 
make  an  Idol  of  our  Joy."  Publication  of  Pemaqiud,  Kezia 
Millet 47^ 


CHAPTER   XV. 

FOREVER  WITH   THE   LORD. 

1878. 

I. 

Enters  upon  her  last  Year  on  Earth.  A  Letter  about  The  Home  at 
Greylock.  Her  Motive  in  writing  Books.  Visit  to  the  Aquarium. 
About  "  Worry."  Her  Painting.  Saturday  Afternoons  with  her. 
What  she  was  to  her  Friends.  Resemblance  to  Madame  de  Brog- 
lie.  Recollections  of  a  Visit  to  East  River.  A  Picture  of  her  by 
an  old  Friend.  Goes  to  Dorset.  Second  Advent  Doctiine.  Last 
Letters 


48s 


II. 

Liltlo  Incidents  and  Details  of  her  last  Days  on  Earth.     Last  Visit  to 

the  Woods.     Sudden  Illness.     Last  Bible-reading.     Last  Drive  to 

Hager  Brook.     Reminiscence  of  a  last  Interview.     Closing  Scenes. 

Death.     The  Burial 

Appendix 


507 
533 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE   CHILD   AND  THE   GIRL, 

1818-1839. 

I. 

Birth-place  and  Ancestry.  Seth  Payson.  Edward  Payson.  His  Mother.  A  Sketch  o( 
his  Life  and  Character.  The  Fervor  of  his  Piety.  Despondent  Moods  and  thcis 
Cause.  Bright,  natural  Traits.  How  he  prayed  and  preached.  Conversational 
Gift.     Love  to  Christ.     Triumphant  Death. 

Mrs.  Prentiss  was  fortunate  in  the  place  of  her  birth. 
She  first  saw  the  Hght  at  Portland,  Maine.  Maine  was  then  a 
district  of  Massachusetts,  and  Portland  was  its  chief  town 
and  seaport,  distinguished  for  beauty  of  situation,  enterprise, 
intelligence,  social  refinement  and  all  the  best  qualities  of 
New  England  character.  Not  a  few  of  the  early  settlers  had 
come  from  Cape  Cod  and  other  parts  of  the  old  Bay  State,  and 
the  blood  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers  ran  in  their  veins.  Among 
its  leading  citizens  at  that  time  were  such  men  as  Stephen 
Longfellow,  Simon  Greenleaf,  Prentiss  Mellen,  Samuel  Fessen- 
den,  Ichabod  Nichols,  Edward  Payson,  and  Asa  Cummings ; 
men  eminent  for  private  and  public  virtue,  and  some  of  whom 
were  destined  to  become  still  more  widely  known,  by  their 
own  growing  influence,  or  by  the  genius  of  their  children. 

But  while  favored  in  the  place  of  her  birth,  Mrs.  Prentiss 
was  more  highly  favored  still  in  her  parentage.  For  more  than 
half  a  century  the  name  of  her  father  has  been  a  household 
word  among  the  churches  not  of  New  England  only,  but 
throughout  the  land  and  even  beyond  the  sea.  It  is  among 
the  most  beloved  and  honored  in  the  annals  of  American 
piety.^     He  belonged  to  a  very  old  Puritan  stock,  and  to  a 

*  For  many  years  after  the  publication  of  his  Memoir,  it  was  so  often  given  to  children 
at  their  baptism  that  at  one  time  those  who  bore  it,  in  and  out  of  New  England,  were 
to  be  numbered  by  hundreds,  if  not  thousands.  "  I  once  saw  the  deaths  of  three  little 
Edward  Payson s  in  one  paper,"  wrote  Mrs.  Prentiss  in  1852. 


2  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.  PRENTISS. 

family  noted  during  two  centuries  for  the  number  of  ministers 
of  the  Gospel  who  have  sprung  from  it.  The  first  in  the  line 
of  his  ancestry  in  this  country  was  Edward,  who  came  over 
in  the  brig  Hopewell,  William  Burdeck,  Master,  in  1635-6,  and 
settled  in  the  town  of  Roxbury.  He  was  a  native  of  Nasing, 
Essex  Co.,  England.  Among  his  fellow-passengers  in  the 
Hopewell  was  Mary  Eliot,  then  a  young  girl,  sister  of  John 
Eliot,  the  illustrious  "  Apostle  to  the  Indians."  Some  years 
later  she  became  his  wife.  Their  youngest  son,  Samuel,  was 
father  of  the  Rev.  Phillips  Payson,  who  was  born  at  Dor- 
chester, Massachusetts,  1705,  and  settled  at  Walpole,  in  the 
same  State,  in  1730.  He  had  four  sons  in  the  ministry,  all, 
like  himself,  graduates  of  Harvard  College.  The  youngest  of 
these,  the  Rev.  Seth  Payson,  D.D.,  Mrs.  Prentiss'  grandfather, 
was  born  September  30,  1758,  was  ordained  and  settled  at 
Rindge,  New  Hampshire,  December  4,  1782,  and  died  there, 
after  a  pastorate  of  thirty-seven  years,  February  26,  1820. 
His  wife  was  Grata  Payson,  of  Pomfret,  Conn.  He  was  a 
man  widely  known  in  his  day  and  of  much  weight  in  the 
community,  not  only  in  his  own  profession  but  in  civil  life, 
also,  having  several  times  filled  the  office  of  State  senator. 
When  in  18 19  a  plan  was  formed  to  remove  Williams  College 
to  a  more  central  location,  and  several  towns  competed  for 
the  honor.  Dr.  Payson  was  associated  with  Chancellor  Kent 
of  New  York,  and  Governor  John  Cotton  Smith  of  Connec- 
ticut, as  a  committee  to  decide  upon  the  rival  claims.  He  is 
described  as  possessing  a  sharp,  vigorous  intellect,  a  lively 
imagination,  a  very  retentive  memory,  and  was  universally 
esteemed  as  an  able  and  faithful  minister  of  Christ.' 

Edward,  the  eldest  son  of  Seth  and  Grata  Payson,  was  born 
at  Rindge,  July  25,  1783.  His  mother  was  noted  for  her 
piety,  her  womanly  discretion,  and  her  personal  and  mental 
graces.  Edward  was  her  first-born,  and  from  his  infancy  to 
the  last  year  of  his  life  she  lavished  upon  him  her  love  and 
her  prayers.     The  relation  between  them  was  very  beautiful. 

»  He  was  the  author  of  a  curious  work  entitled,  "  Proofs  of  the  real  Existence,  and 
dangerous  Tendency,  of  Illuminism."  Charlestown,  iSc2,  By  "  lUuminism  "  he  means 
an  orgftnised  attempt,  or  conspiracy,  to  undermine  the  foundations  of  Christian  society 
and  establish  upon  its  ruins  the  system  of  atheism. 


THE   CHILD   AND   THE   GIRL.  3 

His  letters  to  her  are  models  of  filial  devotion,  and  her  letters 
to  him  are  full  of  tenderness,  good  sense,  and  pious  wisdom. 
He  inherited  some  of  her  most  striking  traits,  and  through 
him  they  passed  on  to  his  youngest  daughter,  who  often  said 
that  she  owed  her  passion  for  the  use  of  the  pen  and  her 
fondness  for  rhyming  to  her  grandmother  Grata.' 

Edward  Payson  was  in  all  respects  a  highly-gifted  man. 
His  genius  was  as  marked  as  his  piety.  There  is  a  charm  about 
his  name  and  the  story  of  his  life,  that  is  not  likely  soon  to 
pass  away.  He  belonged  to  a  class  of  men  who  seem  to  be 
chosen  of  Heaven  to  illustrate  the  sublime  possibilities  of 
Christian  attainment — men  of  seraphic  fervor  of  devotion, 
and  whose  one  overmastering  passion  is  to  win  souls  fot 
Christ  and  to  become  wholly  like  Him  themselves.  Into 
this  goodly  fellowship  he  was  early  initiated.  There  is 
something  startling  in  the  depth  and  intensity  of  his  religious 
emotions,  as  recorded  in  his  journal  and  letters.  Nor  is  it  to 
be  denied  that  they  are  often  marred  by  a  very  morbid  ele- 
ment. Like  David  Brainerd,  the  missionary  saint  of  New 
England,  to  whom  in  certain  features  of  his  character  he  bore 
no  little  resemblance,  Edward  Payson  was  of  a  melancholy 
temperament  and  subject,  therefore,  to  sudden  and  sharp 
alternations  of  feeling.  While  he  had  great  capacity  for  en- 
joyment, his  capacity  for  suffering  was  equally  great.  Nor 
were  these  native  traits  suppressed,  or  always  overruled,  by 
his  religious  faith ;  on  the  contrary,  they  affected  and  modi- 
fied his  whole  Christian  life.  In  its  earlier  stages,  he  was  apt 
to  lay  too  much  stress  by  far  upon  fugitive  "  frames,"  and  to 
mistake  mere  weariness,  torpor,  and  even  diseased  action  of 
body  or  mind,  for  coldness  toward  his  Saviour.  And  almost 
to  the  end  of  his  days  he  was,  occasionally,  visited  by  seasons 
of  spiritual  gloom  and  depression,  which,  no  doubt,  were 
chiefly,  if  not  solely,  the  result  of  physical  causes.  It  was  an 
error  that  grew  readily  out  of  the  brooding  introspection  and 
self-anatomy  which  marked  the  religious  habit  of  the  times. 
The    close    connection    between    physical    causes  and   mor- 

»  "  I  spent  part  of  last  evening  reading  over  some  old  letters  of  my  grandmother's  and 
never  realised  before  what  a  remarkable  woman  she  was  both  as  to  piety  and  talent"— 
From  a  letter  of  Mrs.  Prentiss^  written  in  1S64. 


4  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.  PRENTISS. 

bid  or  abnormal  conditions  of  the  spiritual  life,  was  not 
as  well  understood  then  as  it  is  now.  Many  things  were 
ascribed  to  Satanic  influence  which  should  have  been  ascrib(id 
rather  to  unstrung  nerves  and  loss  of  sleep,  or  to  a  violaticjn 
of  the  laws  of  health/  The  disturbing  influence  of  nervous 
and  other  bodily  or  mental  disorders  upon  religious  experi- 
ence deserves  a  fuller  discussion  than  it  has  yet  received.  It 
is  a  subject  which  both  modern  science  and  modern  thought, 
if  guided  by  Christian  wisdom,  might  help  greatly  to  eluci- 
date. 

The  morbid  and  melancholy  element,  however,  was  only  a 
painful  incident  of  his  character.  It  tinged  his  life  with  a 
vein  of  deep  sadness  and  led  to  undue  severity  of  self-disci- 
pline ;  but  it  did  not  seriously  impair  the  strength  and  beauty 
of  his  Christian  manhood.  It  rather  served  to  bring  them 
into  fuller  relief,  and  even  to  render  more  striking  those  bright 
natural  traits — the  sportive  humor,  the  ready  mother  wit,  the 
facetious  pleasantry,  the  keen  sense  of  the  ridiculous,  and  the 
wondrous  story-telling  gift — which  made  him  a  most  delight- 
ful companion  to  young  and  old,  to  the  wise  and  the  unlet- 
tered alike.  It  served,  moreover,  to  impart  peculiar  tender- 
ness to  his  pastoral  intercourse,  especially  with  members  of 
his  flock  tried  and  tempted  like  as  he  was.  He  had  learned 
how  to  counsel  and  comfort  them  by  the  things  which  he  also 
had  suffered.  He  may  have  been  too  exacting  and  harsh  in 
dealing  with  himself;  but  in  dealing  with  other  souls  nothing 
could  exceed  the  gentleness,  wisdom,  and  soothing  influence 
of  his  ministrations. 

As  a  preacher  he  was  the  impersonation  of  simple,  earnest, 
and  impassioned  utterance.  Although  not  an  orator  in  the 
ordinary  sense  of  the  term,  he  touched  the  hearts  of  his  hear- 
ers with  a  power  beyond  the  reach  of  any  orator>\     Some  of 

'  In  a  letter  to  iiis  mother,  written  when  Elizabeth  was  three  years  old,  he  says  :  "  E. 
has  a  terrible  abscess,  which  we  feared  would  prove  too  much  for  her  slender  constitu- 
tion. We  were  almost  worn  out  with  watching  ;  and,  just  as  she  began  to  mend,  I  was 
seized  with  a  violent  ague  in  my  face,  which  gave  me  incessant  anguish  for  six  days  and 
nights  together,  and  deprived  me  almost  entirely  of  sleep.  Three  nights  I  did  not  close 
ray  eyes.  When  well  nigh  distracted  with  pain  and  loss  of  sleep,  Satan  was  let  loose 
upon  me,  to  buffet  me,  and  I  verily  thought  would  have  driven  me  to  desperation  and 
madness." 


THE   CHILD   AND   THE   GIRL.  5 

his  printed  sermons  are  models  in  their  kind*  that  e.g.  on 
"  Sins  estimated  by  the  Light  of  Heaven,"  and  that  addressed 
to  Seamen,  liis  theology  was  a  mild  type  of  the  old  New  En 
gland  Calvinism,  modified,  on  the  one  hand,  by  the  influence 
of  his  favorite  authors  —  such  as  Thomas  a  Kempis,  and 
Fenelon,  the  Puritan  divines  of  the  seventeenth  century,  John 
Newton  and  Richard  Cecil— and  on  the  other,  by  his  own 
profound  experience  and  seraphic  love.  Of  his  theology,  his 
preaching  and  his  piety  alike,  Christ  was  the  living  centre. 
His  expressions  of  personal  love  to  the  Saviour  are  surpassed 
by  nothing  in  the  writings  of  the  old  mystics.  Here  is  a 
passage  from  a  letter  to  his  mother,  written  while  he  was  still 
a  young  pastor: 

I  have  sometimes  heard  of  spells  and  charms  to  excite  love,  and  have 
wished  for  them,  when  a  boy,  that  I  might  cause  others  to  love  me.  But 
how  much  do  I  now  wish  for  some  charm  which  should  lead  men  to  love 
the  Saviour  !  .  .  .  .  Could  I  paint  a  true  lilceness  of  Him,  methinks  I  should 
rejoice  to  hold  it  up  to  the  view  and  admiration  of  all  creation,  and  be  hid 
behind  it  forever.  It  would  be  heaven  enough  to  hear  Him  praised  and 
adored.  But  I  can  not  paint  Him  ;  I  can  not  describe  Him  ;  I  can  not  make 
others  love  Him ;  nay.  I  can  not  love  Him  a  thousandth  part  so  much  as 
I  ought  myself.  O,  for  an  angel's  tongue  !  O,  for  the  tongues  of  ten 
thousand  angels,  to  sound  His  praises. 

He  had  a  remarkable  familiarity  with  the  word  of  God  and 
his  mind  seemed  surcharged  with  its  power.  "  You  could  not, 
in  conversation,  mention  a  passage  of  Scripture  to  him  but 
you  found  his  soul  in  harmony  with  it — the  most  apt  illustra- 
tions would  flow  from  his  lips,  the  fire  of  devotion  would 
beam  from  his  eye,  and  you  saw  at  once  that  not  only  could 
he  deliver  a  sermon  from  it,  but  that  the  ordinary  time  allot- 
ted to  a  sermon  would  be  exhausted  before  he  could  pour  cuit 
the  fullness  of  meaning  which  a  sentence  from  the  word  o* 
God  presented  to  his  mind."  ' 

He  was  wonderfully  gifted  in  prayer.  Here  all  his  intel- 
lectual, imaginative,  and  spiritual  powers  were  fused  into  one 
and  poured  themselves  forth  in  an  unbroken  stream  of  peni- 
tential and  adoring  affection.  When  he  said,  "  Let  us  pray," 
a   divine    influence    seemed    to    rest    upon    all   present.     Hig 

1  The  late  President  Wayland. 


6  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.  PRENTISS. 

prayers  were  not  mere  pious  mental  exercises,  they  were  6& 
vout  inspirations. 

No  one  can  form  an  adequate  conception  of  what  Dr.  Payson  was  from 
any  of  the  productions  of  his  pen.  Admirable  as  his  written  sermons  aie, 
his  extempore  prayers  and  the  gushings  of  his  heart  in  familiar  talk  were 
altogether  higher  and  more  touching  than  anything  he  wrote.  It  was  ny 
custom  to  close  my  eyes  when  he  began  to  pray,  and  it  was  always  a  letti.\g 
down,  a  sort  of  rude  fall,  to  open  them  again,  when  he  had  concluded,  and 
find  myself  still  on  the  earth.  His  prayers  always  took  my  spirit  into  the 
immediate  presence  of  Christ,  amid  the  glories  of  the  spiritual  world  ;  and 
to  look  round  again  on  this  familiar  and  comparatively  misty  earth  was 
almost  painful.  At  every  prayer  I  heard  him  offer,  during  the  seven  years 
in  which  he  was  my  spiritual  guide,  I  never  ceased  to  feel  new  astonish- 
ment, at  the  wonderful  variety  and  depth  and  richness  and  even  novelty  ol 
feeling  and  expression  which  were  poured  forth.  This  was  a  feeling  with 
which  every  hearer  sympathised,  and  it  is  a  fact  well-known,  that  Chris- 
tians trained  under  his  influence  were  generally  remarkable  for  their  devo- 
tional habits.^ 

Dr.  Payson  possessed  rare  conversational  powers  and  loved 
to  wield  them  in  the  service  of  his  Master.  When  in  a  genial 
mood — and  the  mild  excitement  of  social  intercourse  generally 
put  him  in  such  a  mood — his  familiar  talk  was  equally  de- 
lightful and  instructive.  He  was,  in  truth,  an  improvisatore. 
Quick  perception,  an  almost  intuitive  insight  into  character, 
an  inexhaustible  fund  of  fresh,  original  thought  and  incident, 
the  happiest  illustrations,  and  a  memory  that  never  faltered 
in  recalling  what  he  had  once  read  or  seen,  easy  self-control, 
and  ardent  sympathies,  all  conspired  to  give  him  this  pre- 
eminence. Without  effort  or  any  appearance  of  incongruity 
he  could  in  turn  be  grave  and  gay,  playful  and  serious.  This 
came  of  the  utter  sincerity  and  genuineness  of  his  character. 
There  was  nothing  artificial  about  him  ;  nature  and  grace  had 
full  play  and,  so  to  say,  constantly  ran  into  each  other.  A 
keen  observer,  who  knew  him  well,  both  in  private  and  in 
public,  testifies:  "His  facetiousness  indeed  was  ever  a  near 
neighbor  to  his  piety,  if  it  was  not  a  part  of  it ;  and  his  most 
cheerful  conversations,  so  far  from  putting  his  mind  out  of 
tune  for  acts  of  religious  worship,  seemed  but  a  happy  prepa- 

1  Prof.  Calvin  E.  Stowe,  D.D. 


THE   CHILD   AND   THE   GIRL.  7 

ration  for  the  exercise  of  devotional  feelings.'  *  This  co. 
existence  of  serious  with  playful  elements  is  often  found  in 
natures  of  unusual  depth  and  richness,  just  as  tragic  and  comic 
powers  sometimes  co-exist  in  a  great  poet. 

The  same  qualities  that  rendered  him  such  a  master  of  con- 
versation, lent  a  potent  charm  to  his  familiar  religious  talks 
in  the  prayer-meeting,  at  the  fireside,  or  in  the  social  circle. 
Always  eager  to  speak  for  his  Master,  he  knew  how  to  do  it 
with  a  wise  skill  and  a  tenderness  of  feeling  that  disarmed 
prejudice  and  sometimes  won  the  most  determined  foe.  Even 
in  administering  reproof  or  rebuke  there  was  the  happiest 
union  of  tact  and  gentleness.  "  What  makes  you  blush  so  ?  " 
said  a  reckless  fellow  in  the  stage,  to  a  plain  country  girl,  who 
was  receiving  the  mail-bag  at  a  post  office  from  the  hand  of 
the  driver.  ''What  makes  you  blush  so,  my  dear?"  "Per- 
haps," said  Dr.  Payson,  who  sat  near  him  and  was  unobserved 
till  now,  "  Perhaps  it  is  because  some  one  spoke  rudely  to  hei 
when  the  stage  was  along  here  the  last  time." 

Edward  Payson  was  graduated  at  Harvard  College  in  tho 
class  of  1803.  In  the  autumn  of  that  year  he  took  charge  o? 
an  academy  then  recently  established  in  Portland.  Resigning 
this  position  in  1806,  he  returned  home  and  devoted  himself 
to  the  study  of  divinity  under  his  father's  care.  He  was 
licensed  to  preach  in  May,  1807,  and  a  few  months  later  re- 
ceived a  unanimous  call  to  Portland,  where  he  was  ordained 
in  December  of  the  same  year.  On  the  8th  of  May,  18 11,  he 
was  married  to  Ann  Louisa  Shipman,  of  New  Haven,  Conn. 
An  extract  from  a  m:i:ily  letter  to  Miss  Shipman,  written  a 
few  weeks  after  their  engagement,  will  show  the  spirit  which 
inspired  him  both  as  a  lover  and  a  husband  : 

When  I  wrote  my  first  letter  after  my  late  visit,  I  felt  almost  angry  with 
you  and  quite  so  with  myself.  And  why  angry  with  you  ?  Because  I  be- 
gan to  fear  you  would  prove  a  dangerous  rival  to  my  Lord  and  Master,  and 
draw  away  my  heart  from  His  service.  My  Louisa,  should  this  be  the 
case,  I  should  certainly  hate  you.  I  am  Christ's ;  I  must  be  Christ's  ;  He 
has  purchased  me  dearly,  and  I  should  hate  the  mother  who  bore  me,  it 
she  proved  even  the  innocent  occasion  of  drawing  me  from  Him.     I  feared 

1  The  late  Rev.  Absalom  Peters,  D.D. 


%  THE   UFE   OF   MRS.  PRENTISS. 

that  you  would  do  this.  For  a  little  time  the  conflict  of  my  feelings  was 
dreadful  beyond  description.  For  a  few  moments  I  wished  I  had  never 
seen  you.  Had  you  been  a  right  hand,  or  a  right  eye,  had  you  been  the 
life-blood  in  my  veins  (and  you  are  dear  to  me  as  either)  I  must  have  given 
you  up.  had  I  continued  to  feel  as  I  did.  But  blessed  be  God,  He  has 
shown  mc  my  weakness  only  to  strengthen  me.  I  now  feel  very  differently. 
1  still  love  you  dearly  as  ever,  but  my  love  leads  me  to  Christ  and  not/rom 
Him. 

Dr.  Payson  received  repeated  invitations  to  important 
churches  in  Boston  and  New  York,  but  declining  them  all, 
continued  in  the  Portland  pastorate  until  his  death,  which  oc- 
curred October  22,  1827,  in  the  forty-fifth  year  of  his  age. 
The  closing  months  of  his  life  were  rendered  memorable  by 
an  extraordinary  triumph  of  Christian  faith  and  patience,  as 
well  as  of  the  power  of  mind  over  matter.  His  bodily  suffer- 
ing and  agonies  were  indescribable,  but,  like  one  of  the  old 
martyrs  in  the  midst  of  the  flames,  he  seemed  to  forget  them 
all  in  the  greatness  of  his  spiritual  joy.  In  a  letter  written 
shortly  after  his  death,  Mrs.  Payson  gives  a  touching  account 
of  the  tender  and  thoughtful  concern  for  her  happiness  which 
marked  his  last  illness.  Knowing,  for  example,  that  she 
would  be  compelled  to  part  with  her  house,  he  was  anxious 
to  have  a  smaller  one  purchased  and  occupied  at  once,  so  that 
his  presence  in  it  for  a  little  while  might  make  it  seem  more 
liome-like  to  her  and  to  her  children  after  he  was  gone.  "To 
tell  you  (she  adds)  what  he  was  the  last  six  memorable  weeks 
would  be  altogether  beyond  my  skill.  All  who  beheld  him 
called  his  countenance  angelic."  She  then  repeats  some  of 
his  farewell  words  to  her.  Begging  that  she  would  "  not  dwell 
upon  his  poor,  shattered  frame,  but  follow  his  blessed  spirit 
to  the.  realms  of  glory,"  he  burst  forth  into  an  exultant  song 
of  delight,  as  if  already  he  saw  the  King  in  His  beauty  !  The 
well-known  letter  to  his  sister  Eliza,  dated  a  few  weeks  before 
l)is  di'[)nrtiirr.  breathes  the  same  spirit.  Here  is  an  extract 
Iroin  it  : 

Wrrf  I  to  adopt  the  figurative  language  of  Bunyan,  I  might  date  this 
letter  from  the  land  of  IJculah.  of  which  I  have  been  for  some  weeks  a 
happy  inhahitaiu.  The  celestial  city  is  full  in  my  view,  its  glories  beam 
Upon   nic,  ili  buivt-.  fan  uk,  ili  odufb  arc  walLud  lo  mc,  its  bounds  strike 


THE   CHILD   AND   THE   GIRL.  g 

upon  my  ear,  and  its  spirit  is  breathed  into  my  heart.  Nothing  separates 
me  from  it  but  the  river  of  death,  which  now  appears  but  as  an  insignifi- 
cant rill,  that  may  be  crossed  at  a  single  step,  whenever  God  shall  give 
permission.  The  Sun  of  Righteousness  has  been  gradually  drawing  nearer 
and  nearer,  appearing  larger  and  brighter  as  He  approached,  and  now  He 
fills  the  whole  hemisphere,  pouring  forth  a  flood  of  glory,  in  which  I  seem 
to  float  like  an  insect  in  the  beams  of  the  sun,  exulting  yet  almost  trem- 
bling while  I  gaze  on  this  excessive  brightness,  and  wondering,  with  unut- 
terable wonder,  why  God  should  deign  thus  to  shine  upon  a  sinful  worm. 
A  single  heart  and  a  single  tongue  seem  altogether  inadequate  to  my 
wants ;  I  want  a  whole  heart  for  every  separate  emotion,  and  a  whole 
tongue  to  express  that  emotion.  But  why  do  I  speak  thus  of  myself  and  my 
feelings  ?  why  not  speak  only  of  our  God  and  Redeemer  ?  It  is  because  I 
know  not  what  to  say — when  I  would  speak  of  them  my  words  are  all 
swallowed  up. 

And  thus,  gazing  already  upon  the  Beatific  Vision,  he  passed 
on  into  glory.  What  is  written  concerning  his  Lord  and  Master 
might  with  almost  literal  truth  have  been  inscribed  over  his 
grave :   T/ie  zeal  of  Thy  house  hath  eaten  me  tip. 


II. 

Birth  and  Childhood  of  Elizabeth  Payson.  Early  Traits.  Devotion  to  her  Father.  His 
Influence  upon  her.  Letters  to  her  Sister.  Removal  to  New  York.  Reminiscences 
of  the  Payson  Family. 

Elizabeth  Payson  was  born  "  about  three  o'clock  " — so 
her  father  records  it — on  Tuesday  afternoon,  October  26,  18 18. 
She  was  the  fifth  of  eight  children,  two  of  whom  died  in  in- 
fancy. All  good  influences  seem  to  have  encircled  her  natal 
hour.  In  a  letter  to  his  m.othcr,  dotted  October  27,  Dr  Payson 
enumerates  six  special  mercies,  by  which  the  happy  event  had 
been  crowned.  One  of  them  was  the  gratification  of  the 
mother's  "  wish  for  a  daughter  rather  than  a  son."  Another 
was  God's  goodness  to  him  in  sparing  both  the  mother  and 
the  child  in  spite  of  his  fear  that  he  should  lose  them.  This 
fear,  strangely  enough,  was  occasioned  by  the  unusual  religious 
peace  and  comfort  which  he  had  been  enjoying.  He  had  a 
presentiment  that   in  this  way  God  was   forearming  him   for 


10  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PREXTISS. 

some  extraordinary  trial;  and  tlic  loss  of  his  wife  seemed  tc 
him  most  likely  to  be  that  trial.  *' God  has  been  so  gracious 
to  me  in  spiritual  things,  that  I  thought  He  was  preparing  me 
for  Louisa's  death.  Indeed  it  may  be  so  still,  and  if  so  His 
will  be  done  Let  Him  take  all— and  if  He  leaves  us  Himself 
we  still  have  all  and  abound."     The  next  day  he  writes : 

Still  God  is  kind  to  us.  Louisa  and  the  babe  continue  as  well  as  we 
could  desire.  Truly,  my  cup  runs  over  with  blessings.  I  can  still  scarcely 
help  thinking  that  God  is  preparing  me  for  some  severe  trial  ;  but  if  He 
will  grant  me  His  presence  as  He  does  now,  no  trial  can  seem  severe.  Oh, 
could  I  now  drop  the  body,  I  would  stand  and  cry  to  all  eternity  without 
being  wear>' :  God  is  holy,  God  is  just,  God  is  good  ;  God  is  wise  and  faith- 
ful and  true.  Either  of  His  perfections  alone  is  sufficient  to  furnish  mattei 
for  an  eternal,  unwearied  song.  Could  I  sing  upon  paper  I  should  break 
forth  into  singing,  for  day  and  night  I  can  do  nothing  but  sing  -'Let  the 
saints  be  joyful,"  etc.,  etc.  But  I  must  close.  I  can  not  send  so  much  love 
and  thankfulness  to  my  parents  as  they  deserve.  My  present  happiness, 
all  my  happiness  I  ascribe  under  God  to  them  and  their  prayers. 

Surely,  a  home  inspired  and  ruled  by  such  a  spirit  was  a 
sweet  home  to  be  born  into  ! 

The  notices  of  Elizabeth's  childhood  depict  her  as  a  dark- 
eyed,  delicate  little  creature,  of  sylph-like  form,  reserved  and 
shy  in  the  presence  of  strangers,  of  a  s\vcet  disposition,  and 
very  intense  in  her  sympathies.  "  Until  I  was  three  years  old 
mother  says  I  was  a  little  angel,"  she  once  wrote  to  a  friend. 
Her  constitution  was  feeble,  and  she  inherited  from  her  father 
bis  high-strung  nervous  temperament.  "  I  never  knew  what 
it  was  to  feel  well,"  she  wrote  in  1 840.  Severe  pain  in  the 
side,  fainting  turns,  the  sick  headache,  and  other  ailments 
troubleti  her,  more  or  less,  from  infancy.  She  had  an  eye  wide 
open  to  the  world  about  her,  and  quick  to  catch  its  varying 
aspects  of  light  and  beauty,  whether  on  land  or  sea.  The 
slii|)s  and  wharves  not  far  from  her  father's  house,  the  observ- 
atory anil  fort  on  the  hill  overlooking  Casco  Bay,  the  White 
Mountains  far  away  in  the  distance,  Deering's  oaks,  the  rope- 
walk,  and  the  ancient  bur>ing-ground— these  and  other  famil- 
iar objects  of  "the  dear  old  town,"  commemorated  by  Long- 
fellow in  his  poem  entitled  "  My  Lost  Youth,"  were  indelibly 
fixed   in   her   memory  and  followed  her  wherever  she  went,  to 


THE   CHILD   AND   THE   GH^L.  1 1 

the  end  of  her  days.  In  her  movements  she  was  light-footed, 
venturesome  to  rashness,  and  at  times  wild  with  fun  and  frolic! 
Her  whole  being  was  so  impressionable  that  things  pleasant 
and  things  painful  stamped  themselves  upon  it  as  with  the 
point  of  a  diamond.  Whatever  she  did,  whatever  she  felt, 
she  felt  and  did  as  for  her  life.  Allusion  has  been  made  tc 
the  intensity  of  her  sympathies.  The  sight  or  tale  of  suffer- 
ing would  set  her  in  a  tremor  of  excitement ;  and  in  her  eager- 
ness to  give  relief  she  seemed  ready  for  any  sacrifice,  however 
great.  This  trait  arrested  the  observant  eye  of  her  father,  and 
he  expressed  to  Mrs.  Payson  his  fear  lest  it  might  some  day 
prove  a  real  misfortune  to  the  child.  *'  She  will  be  in  danger 
of  marrying  a  blind  man,  or  a  helpless  cripple,  out  of  pure 
sympathy,"  he  once  said. 

But  by  far  the  strongest  of  all  the  impressions  of  her  child- 
hood related  to  her  father.  His  presence  was  to  her  the  hap- 
piest spot  on  earth,  and  any  special  expression  of  his  affection 
would  throw  her  into  an  ecstasy  of  delight.  When  he  was 
away  she  pined  for  his  return.  "  The  children  all  send  a  great 
deal  of  love,  and  Elizabeth  says,  Do  tell  Papa  to  come  home," 
wrote  her  mother  to  him,  when  she  was  six  years  old.  Her 
recollections  of  her  father  were  singularly  vivid.  She  could 
describe  minutely  his  domestic  habits,  how  he  looked  and 
talked  as  he  sat  by  the  fireside  or  at  the  table,  his  delight  in 
and  skillful  use  of  carpenters'  tools,  his  ingenious  devices  for 
amusing  her  and  diverting  his  own  weariness  as  he  lay  sick  in 
bed,  e.g.,  tearing  up  sheets  of  white  paper  into  tiny  bits,  and 
then  letting  her  pour  them  out  of  the  window  to  "  make  be- 
lieve it  snowed,"  or  counting  all  the  bristles  in  a  clothes-brush, 
and  then  as  she  came  in  from  school,  holding  it  up  and  bid- 
ding her  guess  their  number — his  coolness  and  efficiency  in 
the  wild  excitements  of  a  conflagration,  the  calm  deliberation 
with  which  he  walked  past  the  horror-stricken  lookers  on  and 
cut  the  rope  by  which  a  suicide  was  suspended;  these  and 
other  incidents  she  would  recall  a  third  of  a  century  after  his 
death,  as  if  she  had  just  heard  of  or  just  witnessed  them.  To 
her  child's  imagination  his  memory  seemed  to  be  invested 
with  the  triple  halo  of  father,  hero,  and  saint.    A  little  picture 


,2  THE   T.IFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

of  him  was  always  near  her.  She  never  mentioned  his  name 
without  tender  affection  and  reverence.  Nor  is  this  at  all 
stran^^e.  She  was  almost  nine  years  old  when  he  died  ;  and 
his  influence,  diring  these  years,  penetrated  to  her  inmost 
iK-ing.  She  once  said  that  of  her  father's  virtues  one  only- 
punctuality— had  descended  to  her.  But  here  she  was  surely 
wrong.  Not  only  did  she  owe  to  him  some  of  the  most  strik- 
ing peculiarities  of  her  physical  and  mental  constitution,  but 
her  piety  itself,  if  not  inherited,  was  largely  inspired  and 
shaped  by  his.  In  the  whole  tone  and  expression  of  her  ear- 
lier religious  life,  at  least,  one  sees  him  clearly  reflected.  His 
devotional  habits,  in  particular,  left  upon  her  an  indelible  im- 
l)rcssion.  Once,  when  four  or  five  years  old,  rushing  by  mis- 
take into  his  room,  she  found  him  prostrate  upon  his  face — 
completely  lost  in  prayer.  A  short  time  before  her  death, 
.speaking  of  this  scene  to  a  friend,  she  remarked  that  the  re- 
membrance of  it  had  influenced  her  ever  since.  What  some- 
body said  of  Sara  Coleridge  might  indeed  have  been  said  with 
no  less  truth  of  Elizabeth  Payson :  "Her  father  had  looked 
down  into  her  eyes  and  left  in  them  the  light  of  his  own." 

The  only  records  of  her  childhood  from  her  own  pen  con- 
sist of  the  following  letters,  written  to  her  sister,  while  the  lat- 
ter was  passing  a  year  in  Boston.    She  was  then  nine  years  old. 

Portland,  May  i8,  1828. 
Mv  Dr.AR  SisTKR  : — I  thank  you  for  writing  to  such  a  little 
pirl  as  I  am,  when  you  have  so  little  time,  I  was  going  to  study 
a  little  catechism  which  Miss  Martin  has  got,  but  she  said  I 
c«>uiil  not  learn  it.  I  want  to  learn  it.  I  do  not  like  to  stay  so 
long  at  school.  Wc  have  to  write  composition  by  dictation,  as 
Miss  Martin  calls  it.  She  reads  to  us  out  of  a  book  a  sentence 
at  a  time.  We  write  it  and  then  we  write  it  again  on  our  slates, 
l.cf.Misc  wi'  do  not  always  get  the  whole;  then  we  write  it  on  a 
pjif.-  of  paj)rr.  Miss  Martin  says  I  may  say  my  Sunday-school 
(k-ss(.)n]  lin-rc.  Mi.  Miti:luil  lias  had  a  great  many  new  books. 
I  have  been  sitk.    Dodor  Cununiiigs  has  been  here  and  says  E. 

is  belter  and  he  thinks  he  will  not  have  a  fever G.  goes 

to  school  to  Miss  Libby,  and  II.  goes  to  Master  Jackson.     H 
sends  his  love.     Good-bye. 

Your  affectionate  sister,  E.  Pavson. 


THE   CHILD   AND   THE   GIRL. 


13 


Sepfc-mber  2(),  1S28, 

Mv  Dk.\r  Sister  : — I  think  you  were  very  kind  to  write  to 
nie,  when  you  have  so  little  time.  I  began  to  go  to  Mrs. 
Petrie's  school  a  week  ago  3^esterday.  I  stay  at  home  Mon. 
days  in  the  morning  to  assist  in  taking  care  of  Charles  or  such 
little  things  as  I  can  do.  G.  goes  with  me.  When  mother  pui 
Charles  and  him  to  bed,  as  soon  as  she  had  done  praying  \\\\.h 
them,  G.  said.  Mother,  will  this  world  be  all  burnt  up  when  we 
are  dead  ?  She  said,  Yes,  my  dear,  it  will.  What,  and  all  the 
dishes  too  ?  will  they  melt  like  lead  ?  and  will  the  ground  be 
burnt  up  too  ?  O  what  a  nasty  fire  it  will  make.  I  saw  the  North- 
ern lights  last  night.     I  sleep  in  a  very  large  pleasant  room  in 

the  bed  with  mother I  have  a  very  pleasant  room  for  my 

baby-house  over  the  porch  which  has  two  windows  and  a  fire- 
place in  it,  and  a  little  cupboard  too.  E.  Wood  and  I  are  as 
intimate  as  ever.  I  suppose  you  know  that  Mr.  Wood  is  build- 
ing him  a  brick  house.  Mrs.  Merril's  little  baby  is  dead.  It 
w^as  buried  yesterday  afternoon.  Mr.  Mussey  lives  across 
the  street  from  us.  He  has  a  great  many  elm  trees  in  his  front 
yard.  His  house  is  three  stories  high  and  the  trees  reach  to 
the  top.  We  have  heard  two  or  three  times  from  E.  since  he 
went  away.  Yesterday  all  the  Sabbath-schools  walked  in  a 
procession  and  then  went  to  our  meeting-house  and  Mr.  William 
Cutter  addressed  them. 

I  am  your  affectionate  sister,  E.  Payson. 

Her  feeble  constitution  exposed  her  to  severe  attacks  of 
disease,  and  in  May,  1830,  she  was  brought  to  the  verge  of 
the  grave  by  a  violent  fever.  Her  mother  was  deeply  moved 
by  this  event,  and  while  recording  in  her  journal  God's  good- 
ness in  sparing  Elizabeth,  wonders  whether  it  is  to  the  end 
that  she  may  one  day  devote  herself  to  her  Saviour  and  do 
something  for  the  *'  honor  of  religion."  In  the  latter  part  of 
1830  Mrs.  Payson  removed  to  New  York,  where  her  eldest 
daughter  opened  a  school  for  girls.  It  was  during  this  resi- 
dence in  New  York  that  Elizabeth,  at  the  age  of  twelve  years, 
made  a  public  confession  of  Christ  and  came  to  the  Lords 
table  for  the  first  time.  She  was  received  into  the  Bleeckcr 
street — now  the  Fourth  avenue — Presbyterian  church,  then 
under  the  pastoral  care  of  the  Rev.   Erskine   Mason,   D.D., 


14  THE    LITE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

May  I,   1 83 1.     Toward  the  close  of  the  same  year  the  family 
returned  to  Portland. 

In  a  letter  addressed  to  her  liusband,  one  of  Mrs.  Prentiss' 
oldest  friends  now  living,  Miss  Julia  D.  Willis,  has  fur. 
nishcd  the  following  reminiscences  of  her  early  years.  While 
they  confirm  what  has  been  said  about  her  childhood, 
they  arc  especially  valuable  for  the  glimpses  they  give  of  hei 
father  and  mother  and  sister.  The  Willis  and  Payson  families 
were  very  intimate  and  warmly  attached  to  each  other.  Mr. 
Nathaniel  Willis,  the  father  of  N.  P.  Willis  the  poet,  was  well 
known  in  connection  with  "  The  Boston  Recorder,"  of  which  he 
was  for  many  years  the  conductor  and  proprietor.  Both  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Willis  cherished  the  most  affectionate  veneration  for 
the  memory  of  Dr.  Payson.  So  long  as  she  lived  their  house 
was  a  home  to  Mrs.  Payson  and  her  daughters,  whenever  they 
visited  Boston. 

As  a  preacher  Dr.  Payson  could  not  fail  to  make  a  strong  impression 
even  on  a  child.  Years  ago  in  New  York  I  once  told  Mrs.  Prentiss,  who 
w.is  too  young,  at  her  father's  death,  to  remember  him  well  in  the  pulpit, 
that  the  only  public  speaker  who  ever  reminded  me  of  him,  was  Edwin 
lioolh  in  Hamlet.  I  surprised,  and,  I  am  afraid,  a  little  shocked  her,  but 
it  was  quite  true.  The  slender  figure,  the  dark,  brilliant  eyes,  the  deep 
earnestness  of  tone,  the  rapid  utterance  combined  with  perfect  distinctness 
of  enunciation,  in  spite  of  surroundings  the  best  calculated  to  repel  such 
an  association,  recalled  him  vividly  to  my  memory. 

My  father's  connection  with  the  religious  press  after  his  removal  from 
Portland  to  Boston,  brought  many  clergymen  to  our  house,  who  often,  in 
the  kindni-ss  of  their  hearts,  requited  hospitality  by  religious  conversation 
with  the  children,  not  church  members,  and  presumably,  therefore,  impen- 
itent. I  did  not  always  appreciate  this  kinrlness  as  it  desen'ed,  and  often 
exercised  considerable  ingenuity  to  avoid  being  alone  with  them.  In  Dr. 
Payson's  case,  I  soon  learned,  on  the  contraiy,  to  seek  such  occasions.  I 
was  sure  that  before  long  he  would  look  up  from  his  book,  or  his  manu- 
•cript.  and  have  something  pleasant  or  playful  to  say  to  me.  His  general 
conversation,  however,  was  oftener  on  religious  than  on  any  other  subjects, 
hut  it  was  so  evidently  from  the  fullness  of  his  heart,  and  his  vivid  imagina- 
lion  afforded  hitn  such  a  wealth  of  illustration,  that  it  was  delightful  even 
lo  an  "  impenitent  "  child.  Years  afler^vard  when  I  read  in  his  Memoir  ol 
h.s  desponding  temperament,  of  his  seasons  of  gloom,  of  the  sense  of  sin 
under  which  he  was  bowed  down,  it  seemed  impossible  to  me  that  it  could 
»"•  "M  Dr.  Payson. 


THE   CHILD   AND   THE   GIRL.  1 5 

I  visited  Portland  and  was  an  inmate  of  his  family,  at  the  commence- 
ment of  the  illness  that  finally  proved  fatal.  He  was  not  contined  to  his 
bed,  or  to  his  room,  but  he  was  forbidden,  indeed  unable,  to  preach,  unable 
to  write  or  study ;  he  could  only  read  and  think.  Still  he  did  not  shut  hiai 
self  up  in  his  study  with  his  sad  thoughts.  I  remember  him  as  usually 
seated  with  his  book  by  the  side  of  the  fire,  surrounded  by  his  family,  ai  il 
he  would  enjoy  their  society  as  long  as  possible,  and  the  children's  play 
was  never  hushed  on  his  account.  Nor  did  he  forget  the  young  visitor. 
When  the  elder  daughter,  to  whom  my  visit  was  made,  was  at  school,  he 
would  care  for  my  entertainment  by  telling  a  story,  or  propounding  a  rid- 
dle, or  providing  an  entertaining  book  to  beguile  the  time  till  Louisa's 
return. 

Among  the  group  in  that  cheerful  room,  I  remember  Lizzy  well,  a  beau- 
tiful child,  slender,  dark-eyed,  light-footed,  very  quiet,  evidently  observant, 
but  saying  little,  affectionate,  yet  not  demonstrative. 

One  evening  during  my  visit,  Mrs.  Payson  not  being  quite  well,  the  elders 
had  retired  early,  leaving  Louisa  and  myself  by  the  side  of  the  fire,  she 
preparing  her  school  lesson  and  I  occupied  in  reading.  The  lesson  fin- 
ished, Louisa  proposed  retiring,  but  I  was  too  much  interested  in  my  book 
to  leave  it  and  promised  to  follow  soon.  She  left  me  rather  reluctantly, 
and  I  read  on,  too  much  absorbed  in  my  book  to  notice  the  time,  till  near 
midnight,  v/hen  I  was  startled  by  hearing  Dr.  Payson's  step  upon  the  stairs. 
I  expected  the  reproof  which  I  certainly  deserved,  but  though  evidently 
surprised  at  seeing  me,  he  merely  said,  "You  here?  you  must  be  cold. 
Why  did  you  let  the  fire  go  out  ?  "  Bringing  in  some  wood  he  soon  re- 
kindled it,  and  began  to  talk  to  me  of  the  book  I  was  reading,  which  was 
one  of  Walter  Scott's  poems.  He  then  spoke  of  a  poem  which  he  had 
been  reading  that  day,  Southey's  "  Curse  of  Kehama.  "  He  related  to  me 
with  perfect  clearness  the  long  and  rather  involved  story,  with  that  wonder- 
ful memory  of  his,  never  once  forgetting  or  confusing  the  strange  Oriental 
names,  and  repeating  word  for  word  the  curse : 

I  charm  thy  life,  from  the  weapons  of  strife, 

From  stone  and  from  wood,  from  fire  and  from  flood, 

From  the  serpent's  tooth,  and  the  beasts  of  blood, 

From  sickness  I  charm  thee,  and  time  shall  not  harm  thee,  etc.,  etc. 

I  listened,  intent,  fascinated,  forgot  to  ask  why  he  was  there  instead  of 
in  his  bed,  forgot  that  it  was  midnight  instead  of  mid-day.  It  was  not  till 
on  bidding  me  good  night  he  added,  "  I  hope  you  will  have  a  better  night 
than  I  shall,"  that  it  occurred  to  me  that  he  must  be  suffering.  The  next 
day  I  learned  from  his  wife  that  when  unable  to  sleep  on  account  of  his 
racking  cough,  he  often  left  his  bed  at  night,  the  cough  being  more  endura- 
ble when  in  a  sitting  posture.  I  never  saw  Dr.  Payson  after  that  visit,  nor 
for  several  years  any  of  the  family,  except  Louisa,  who  spent  a  year  with 
us  while  attending  school  in  Boston  to  fit  herself  as  a  teacher  to  aid  in  the 


l6  THE    LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

support  of  her  younger  brothers  and  sister.  When  I  was  next  with  them, 
Louisa  was  already  at  the  head  of  a  school  in  which  her  young  sister  was 
the  brightest  pupil,  and  to  the  profits  of  which  she  laid  no  personal  claim 
all  going  untouched  into  the  family  purse.  Several  young  girls,  Louisa's 
pupils,  had  been  received  as  boarders  in  the  family,  and  occasionally  a 
clcrgN'man  was  added  to  the  number.  It  was  during  this  visit  that  I  first 
'earned  to  appreciate  Mrs.  Payson.  Now  that  she  stood  alone  at  the  head 
of  the  household,  either  her  fine  qualities  were  in  bolder  relief,  or  I  being 
older,  was  better  able  to  estimate  them.  The  singular  vivacity  of  her  in- 
tellect made  her  a  delightful  companion.  Then  her  youth  had  been  passed 
in  the  literary  circles  of  New  Haven  and  Andover,  and  she  had  much  to 
tell  of  distinguished  people  known  to  me  only  by  reputation.  1  admired 
her  firm  yet  gentle  rule,  so  skilfully  adapted  to  the  varying  natures  under 
her  charge ;  her  conscientious  study  of  that  homelv  virtue  economv.  ro 
distasteful  to  one  of  her  naturally  lavish  temper,  always  ready  to  give  to 
those  in  need  to  an  extent  which  called  forth  constant  remonstrances  from 
more  pnident  friends ;  her  alacrity  also  in  all  household  labors,  which  the 
more  excited  my  wonder,  knowing  the  little  opportunity  she  could  have 
had  to  practise  them  amid  the  wealth  of  her  father's  house  before  the 
Embargo,  which  later  wrecked  his  fortune  with  those  of  so  many  other 
New  England  merchants.  She  was,  indeed,  of  a  most  noble  nature,  hating 
all  meanness  and  injustice,  and  full  of  helpful  kindness  and  sympathy.  No 
woman  ever  had  warmer  or  more  devoted  friends. 

Both  at  this  time  and  in  subsequent  visits,  as  she  advanced  from  child- 
hood to  girlhood,  I  remember  Lizzy  well;  although  my  attention  was 
chiefly  absorbed  by  the  elder  sister  of  my  own  age,  my  principal  com- 
panion when  present,  and  correspondent  when  absent.  The  two  sisters 
were  strongly  contrasted.  Louisa,  as  a  child,  was  afflicted  with  a  sensitive, 
almost  morbid  shyness  and  reserve,  and  an  incapacity  for  enjoying  the  so- 
ciety of  other  children  whose  tastes  were  uncongenial  with  her  own.  The 
shyne!is  passc<l  with  her  childhood,  but  the  sensitiveness  and  exclusiveness 
never  quite  left  her.  Her  love  of  books  was  a  passion,  and  she  would  re- 
sent an  unfair  criticism  of  a  favorite  author  as  warmly  as  if  it  were  au 
all..ck  on  a  personal  friend.  To  Lizzy,  on  the  contrary,  a  friend  was  a 
book  which  she  loved  to  read.  Human  nature  was  her  favorite  study. 
There  seemed  to  he  no  one  in  whom  she  could  not  find  something  to  in- 
terest her.  none  with  whom  there  was  not  some  point  of  sympathy.  Com- 
bn  e.|  w»th  th.s  wide  and  gcnhl  sympathy  was  another  quality  which  helped 
to  endear  her  to  her  companions,  viz.,  an  entire  absence  of  all  attempt  to 
•^.ow  her  best  side,  or  put  the  best  face  on  anything  that  concerned  her. 
An  mgrnuous  frankness  about  herself  and  her  affairs-even  about  her  little 
weaknesst^wns  one  of  her  most  striking  traits.  No  one,  indeed,  could 
know  her  without  learning  to  love  her  dearly.  Yet  if  I  should  say  that  in 
my  visits  to  Portland.  Li^.y  always  appeared  to  me  pre-eminently  the  life 


THE   CHILD   AND   THE   GIRL. 


17 


and  charm  of  the  household,  it  would  not  be  exactly  true,  thoug-h  shn  would 
have  been  so  of  almost  any  other  household.  The  Payson  family  was  a 
delightful  one  to  visit,  all  were  so  bright,  and  in  the  contest  of  wits  that 
took  place  often  between  Lizzy  and  her  merry  brothers,  it  was  sometimes 
hard  to  tell  which  bore  off  the  palm. 

I  do  not  know  that  I  ever  thought  of  her  at  that  time  as  an  author.  U 
anybody  had  predicted  to  me  that  one  of  that  group  would  be  the  writer 
of  books,  which  would  not  only  have  a  wide  circulation  at  home,  but  be 
translated  into  foreign  languages,  I  should  certainly  have  selected  Louisa, 
and  I  think  most  persons  who  knew  them  would  have  done  the  same.  The 
elder  sister's  passion  for  books,  her  great  powers  of  acquisition,  the  range 
of  her  attainments — embracing  not  only  modern  languages  and  their  litera- 
ture, but  Latin,  Greek  and  Hebrew— her  ability  to  maintain  discussions  on 
German  metaphysics  and  theology  with  learned  Professors,  all  seemed  to 
point  her  out  as  the  one  likely  to  achieve  distinction  in  the  literary  world. 

I  do  not  remember  whether  it  was  Lizzy's  early  contributions  to  "The 
Youth's  Companion,"  showing  already  the  germ  of  the  creative  power  in 
her,  or  her  letters  to  her  sister,  which  first  suggested  to  me  that  the  pleas- 
ure her  friends  found  in  her  conversation  might  yet  be  enjoyed  by  those 
who  would  never  see  her.  Louisa  had  given  up  her  school  for  the  more 
congenial  employment  of  contributing  to  magazines  and  reviews  and  of 
writing  children's  books.  And  as  the  greater  literary  resources  of  Boston 
drew  her  thither,  she  was  often  for  months  a  welcome  guest  at  our  house, 
where  she  first  met  Professor  Hopkins  of  Williamstown,  and  whom  she 
afterward  married.  The  letters  which  Lizzy  wrote  to  her  at  those  times 
were  never  allowed  to  be  the  monopoly  of  one  person  ;  we  all  claimed  a 
right  to  read  them.  The  ease  with  which  in  these  she  seemed  to  talk  with 
her  pen,  the  mingled  pathos  and  humor  with  which  she  would  relate  all 
the  little  joys  and  sorrows  of  daily  life,  leaving  her  readers  between  a  smile 
and  a  tear,  showed  the  same  characteristics  which  afterward  made  her 
published  writings  so  much  more  generally  attractive  than  the  graver  ones 
of  her  elder  sister.  But  Louisa's  failing  health  soon  after  her  marriage, 
and  the  long  years  of  suffering  which  followed,  prevented  her  ever  doing 
justice  to  the  expectations  her  friends  had  formed  for  her. 

The  occasion  of  my  next  visit  to  Portland  was  a  letter  from  Mrs.  Payson 
to  my  mother,  who  was  her  constant  correspondent,  in  v/hich  she  spoke 
sadly  of  an  indisposition  she  feared  was  the  precursor  of  serious  illness, 
but  which  chiefly  troubled  her  on  account  of  Lizzy's  distress  that  her 
school  prevented  her  being  constantly  with  her  mother.  An  offer  on  my 
part  to  come  and  take  her  place,  in  her  hours  of  necessary  absence,  was  at 
once  accepted.  Mrs.  Payson's  illness  proved  less  serious  than  had  been 
feared,  and  once  more  I  passed  several  pleasant  weeks  in  that  house;  but 
the  pleasantest  hours  of  the  day  were  those  in  which  Lizzy,  returning  from 
school,  sat  down  at  her  mother's  bedside  and  amused  her  with  !icr  talk 
2 


,g  Tin:   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTlbb. 

about  her  pupils,  their  various  characters  and  the  progress  they  had  made 
in  their  studies,  or  related  little  incidents  of  the  school-room-w.th  her 
usual  frankness  not  omitting  those  which  revealed  some  fault  or  what  she 
considered  such,  on  her  part,  especially  her  impulsiveness  that  led  her  often 
to  say  things  she  afterward  regretted.  As  an  example,  one  of  her  pupils 
was  reading  French  to  her  and  coming  to  the  expression  Mon  Dieu!  so 
common  in  French  narratives,  had  pronounced  it  so  badly  that  Lizzy  ex- 
claimed, "  Mon  Doo  ?  He  would  not  know  himself  what  you  meant !  " 
The  laiigh  which  it  was  impossible  to  repress,  did  not  diminish  her  com- 
punction''at  what  she  feared  her  pupils  would  regard  as  irreverence  on  her 
part.  I  believe  I  always  cherished  sufficient  affection  for  my  teachers,  and 
yet  I  was  not  a  little  astonished  on  accompanying  Lizzy  to  school  one  day. 
to  see  as  we  turned  the  corner  of  a  street  a  rush  of  girls  with  unbonneted 
heads,  to  greet  their  young  teacher  for  whom  they  had  been  watching,  and 
escort  her  to  her  throne  in  the  school-room,  and  evidently  in  their  hearts. 
For  a  year  or  two  after  this  visit  I  have  no  recollection  of  her,  or  indeed 
of  any  of  the  Payson  family.  Death,  meanwhile,  had  been  busy  in  my  own 
home,  and  my  memory  is  a  blank  for  anything  beyond  that  sad  circle. 

Since  that' date  you  have  known  her  better  than  L  I  wish  that  these 
recollections  of  a  time  when  I  knew  her  better  than  you,  were  not  so 
meagre.  If  we  were  not  thousands  of  miles  apart,  and  I  could  talk  with 
you.  instead  of  writing  to  you.  perhaps  they  would  not  appear  quite  so  un- 
satisfying. Yet,  trivial  as  they  are,  I  send  them,  in  the  persuasion  that  any 
trifle  that  concerned  her  or  hers  is  of  interest  to  you. 
r.ENF.VA,  Switzerland,  Feb.  i,  1879. 


III. 

KecoUeclii.ns  of  i:iiz.ihi.-il»'s  Girlhood  by  an  early  IVieiul  and  Schoolmate.  Ilcr  own 
Picture  of  ll.-nself  before  her  Tather's  Death.  Favorite  Resorts.  Why  God  permits 
so  much  Su(ferint:.  Literary  Tastes.  Letters.  "What  are  Little  Babies  For?" 
Opens  a  Schcx)l.     Religious  Interest. 

It  is  to  be  rc<(rcttcd  tli;it  the  letters  referred  to  by  Miss 
Willis,  and  indeed  nearly  all  of  Elizabeth's  fanaily  letters, 
written  before  she  left  her  mother's  roof,  have  disappeared. 
Ihit  the  following  recollections  by  Mrs.  M.  C.  H.  Clark,  of 
Portland,  will  in  part  supply  their  place  and  serve  to  fill  up 
the  outline,  already  given,  of  the  first  twenty  years  of  her  life. 

In  the  volume  of  sketches  entitled,  "  Only  a  Dandelion,"  you  will  find,  in 
ihc  story  of  Anna  and  Kmily,  some  very  pleasing  incidents  relating  to  the 


THE   CHILD   AND   THE   CxTRL.  ig 

early  life  of  dear  Elizabeth.  Anna  was  Lizzy  Wood,  her  earliest  playmate 
and  friend.  Miss  Wood  was  a  sweet  girl,  the  only  sister  of  Dr.  William 
Wood,  of  Portland.  She  died  at  an  early  age.  Emily  was  Mrs.  Prentiss 
herself.  I  remember  her  once  telling  me  about  the  visit  at  "  Aunt  W\'s/ 
and  believe  that  nearly  all  the  details  of  the  story  are  founded  in  fact.  It 
is  her  own  picture  of  herself  as  a  little  girl,  drawn  to  the  life.  Several 
traits  of  the  character  of  Emily,  as  given  in  the  sketch,  are  on  this  account 
worthy  of  special  note.  One  is  her  very  intense  desire  not  only  to  be  loved, 
but  to  be  loved  alone,  or  much  more  than  any  one  else  ;  and  to  be  assured 
of  it  "over  and  over  again."  When  Anna  returned  from  her  journey,  she 
brought  the  same  presents  to  Susan  Morton  as  to  Emily.  On  discovering 
this  fact  Emily  was  greatly  distressed. 

"  I  thought  you  would  be  so  glad  to  get  all  these  things  !  "  said  Anna. 

"  And  so  I  am,"  said  Emily,"  I  only  want  you  to  love  me  better  than  any 
other  little  girl,  because  I  love  you  better." 

"  Well,  and  so  I  do,"  returned  Anna ;  "  I  love  you  ten  times  as  well  as  I 
love  Susan  Morton." 

This  satisfied  Emily,  and  "  for  many  days  her  restless  little  heart  was  as 
quiet  and  happy  as  a  lamb's." 

Another  trait  is  brought  out  in  the  incident  that  occurred  on  her  return- 
ing home  from  Anna's.  She  had  written,  or  rather  scratched,  the  word 
"  Anna,"  over  one  whole  side  of  her  room,  while  odd  lines  of  what  pur- 
ported to  be  poetry  filled  the  other. 

But  this  was  not  all.  Her  sister  produced  the  beautiful  Bible  which  had  been  given 
Emily  by  her  Aunt  Lucy,  on  her  seventh  birthday,  and  showed  her  father  how  all  its 
blank  leaves  were  covered  with  Annas.  Her  father  took  the  book  with  reverence,  and 
Emily  understood  and  felt  the  seriousness  with  which  he  examined  her  idle  scra^^•ls.  It 
was  a  look  that  would  have  risen  up  before  her  and  made  her  stay  her  hand,  should  she 
ever  again  in  her  life-long  have  been  tempted  thus  to  misuse  the  word  of  God  ;  just  as 
the  angel  stood  before  Balaam  in  the  narrow  path  he  was  struggling  to  push  through. 
But  Emily  never  again  was  thus  tempted  ;  and  ever  after  her  Bible  was  sacredly  kept 
free  from  "blot,  or  wrinkle,  or  any  such  thing." 

Her  father  now  took  her  with  him  to  his  study,  and  gave  her  a  great  many  pieces  of 
paper,  some  large  and  some  small,  on  which  he  told  her  with  a  smile,  she  could  write 
Anna's  name  to  her  heart's  content.  Emily  felt  very  grateful ;  this  little  kindness  on  her 
father's  part  did  her  more  good  than  a  month's  lecture  could  have  done,  and  made  her 
resolve  never  to  do  anything  that  could  possibly  grieve  him  again.  She  went  away  lo 
her  own  little  baby-house  and  wrote  on  one  of  the  bits  of  paper,  some  verses,  in  which 
she  said  she  had  the  best  father  in  the  world.  When  they  were  done,  she  read  them 
over  once  or  twice,  and  admired  them  exxeedingly  ;  after  which,  with  a  very  mysterious 
air,  she  went  and  threw  them  into  the  kitchen  fire. 

This  incident,  so  prettily  related,  illustrates  the  intensity  of  her  friend 
ships,  shows  that  she  had  begun  to  write  verses  when  a  mere  child,  and 
gives  a  very  pleasant  glimpse  of  her  father  and  of  her  devotion  to  him. 

My  intimate  acquaintance  with  her  commenced  in  1832,  when  we  were 
members  of  Miss  Tyler's  Sabbath-school  class.    Miss  Tyler  was  a  daughtci 


20  THE    LIFE   OF   MRS.    TRENTISS. 

of  Rev.  Dr.  Bennett  Tyler,  her  father's  successor.  She  was  greatly  pleased 
when  I  told  her  I  was  going  to  attend  her  sister's  school,  which  was  opened 
in  the  spring  of  1833,  on  the  corner  of  Middle  and  Lime  streets.  My  seat 
was  next  to  hers  and  we  were  placed  in  the  same  classes.  Our  homes 
ivere  near  each  other  on  Franklin  street,  and  we  always  walked  back  and 
foith  together.  She  was  at  this  time  a  prolific  writer  of  notes.  Sometimes 
si\e  would  meet  me  on  Monday  morning  with  not  less  than  four,  written 
since  we  had  parted  on  Saturday  afternoon.  She  used  to  complain  now 
and  then,  that  I  wrote  her  only  one  to  four  or  five  of  hers  to  me.  In  the 
pleasant  summer  afternoons  we  loved  to  take  long  walks  together.  One 
was  down  by  the  shore  behind  the  eastern  promenade.  Here  we  would 
find  a  sheltered  nook,  and  with  our  backs  to  the  world  and  our  faces  toward 
the  islands  and  the  ocean,  would  sit  in  "rapt  enjoyment "  of  the  scene, 
speaking  scarcely  a  word,  until  one  or  the  other  exclaimed  with  a  long- 
drawn  sigh  :  "  Well,  it  is  time  for  us  to  go  home." 

Another  of  our  places  of  resort  was  the  old  cemetery  on  Congress  street, 
which  in  those  days  was  very  retired.  Our  favorite  spot  here  was  the  sum- 
mit of  a  tomb,  which  stood  on  the  highest  point  in  the  grounds.  It  was 
the  old  style  of  tomb — a  broad  marble  slab,  supported  by  six  small  stone 
pillars  on  a  stone  foundation,  and  surrov.nded  by  two  steps  raised  above 
the  soil.  It  was  a  very  quiet  retreat.  We  could  hear  the  distant  hum  of 
the  city  and  at  the  same  time  enjoy  a  view  of  the  water  and  shipping,  as 
the  land  sloped  down  toward  the  harbor.  I  remember  well  that  one  dark 
spring  day,  as  w^e  sat  there  cuddled  up  under  the  broad  slab,  Lizzy  gave 
me  an  account  of  a  book  she  had  just  been  reading.  It  was  the  Memoir 
of  Miss  Susanna  Anthony,  by  old  Dr.  Hopkins,  of  Newport.  She  told  me 
what  a  good  and  holy  woman  Miss  Anthony  was,  how  much  she  suffered 
and  how  beautifully  she  bore  her  sufferings.  My  sympathy  was  strongly 
excited  and  I  exclaimed,  "  I  do  not  see  how  it  is  right  for  God,  who  can 
control  all  things,  to  permit  such  suffering !  "  Lizzy  replied  very  sweetly, 
"  Well,  Carrie,  we  can't  understand  it,  but  I  have  been  thinking  that  this 
might  be  God's  way  of  preparing  His  children  for  very  high  degrees  of 
service  on  earth,  or  happiness  in  heaven."  I  was  deeply  impressed  with 
this  remark ;  somehow  it  seemed  to  stand  by  me,  and  1  think  it  was  a 
corner-stone  of  her  faith. 

This  summer  —  that  of  1S33 — her  mother  fitted  up  for  her  exclusive 
use  a  small  room  called  the  "  Blue  Room,"  where  she  had  all  her  books 
and  treasures— among  them  a  wailing  desk  which  had  been  her  father's. 
Here  all  her  leisure  hours  were  spent.  It  was  my  privilege  to  be  ad- 
milted  to  this  sanctuury,  and  many  pleasant  hours  we  passed  together 
there,  I  think  Elizabeth  was  always  religious.  She  knew  a  great  deal 
then  about  tl  e  Bible  and  often  talked  with  me  of  divine  things.  She 
Reemed  to  feel  a  deep  interest  in  my  spiritual  welfare.  She  loved  to  share 
ivith  me  her  favorite  books.     To  her  I  was  indebted  for  my  acquamtance 


THE   CHILD   AND   THE   GIRL.  21 

n'ith  Georg-e  Herbert,  and  with  Wordsworth.  She  induced  me  to  read 
"Owen  on  the  133d  Psahn,"  and  Flavel's  "Fountain  of  Life."  In  1834  wi 
both  began  to  attend  the  Free  street  Seminary,  of  which  the  Rev.  Solomon 
Adams  was  then  Principal.  Her  sister  had  become  assistant  teacher  with 
him.  Our  desks  adjoined  each  other  and  we  were  together  a  great  deal. 
She  was  an  admirable  scholar,  very  studious,  prompt  and  ready  at  recita- 
tion. Her  influence  and  example,  added  to  her  friendship  and  sympathy^ 
were  invaluable  to  me  at  this  period.  One  day,  about  this  time,  she  told 
nie  of  her  engagement  with  Mr.  Willis,  to  become  a  contributor  to  "  The 
Youth's  Companion."  This  paper  was  one  of  the  first,  if  not  the  first,  of 
its  class  published  in  this  country,  and  had  a  wide  circulation  among  the 
children  throughout  New  England.  Most  of  the  pieces  in  "  Only  a  Dan- 
delion," first  appeared,  I  think,  in  the  "Youth's  Companion,"  among  the 
rest  several  in  verse.  They  are  written  in  a  sprightly  style,  are  full  of  bright 
fancies  as  well  as  sound  feeling  and  excellent  sense,  and  foretoken  plainly 
the  author  of  the  '  Susy  '  books. 

In  1835  Lizzy  went  to  Ipswich  and  spent  the  summer  in  the  school  there. 
It  was  then  under  the  care  of  Miss  Grant,  and  was  the  most  noted  institution 
of  its  kind  in  New  England.  A  year  or  two  later,  Mr.  N.  P.  WilHs  returned 
from  Europe,  and  with  his  English  bride  made  a  short  visit  at  Mrs.  Payson's. 
Miss  Payson  talked  with  him  of  Elizabeth's  taste  for  writing  poetry  and 
showed  him  some  of  her  pieces.  He  praised  and  encouraged  her  warmly, 
and  this  was,  I  think,  one  of  the  influences  that  strengthened  her  in  the 
purpose  to  become  an  author.  Upon  my  telling  her  one  day  how  much  I 
liked  a  certain  Sunday-school  book  I  had  just  read,  she  smilingly  asked, 
"  What  would  you  think  if  some  day  I  should  write  a  book  as  good  as 
that }  " 

I  saw  a  good  deal  of  her  home  life  at  this  time.  It  was  full  of  filial  and 
sisterly  love  and  devotion.  Amidst  the  household  cares  by  which  her 
mother  was  often  weighed  down  and  worried,  she  was  an  ever-near  friend 
and  sympathizer.  To  her  brothers,  too,  she  endeared  herself  exceedingly 
by  her  helpful,  cheery  ways  and  the  strong  vein  of  fun  and  mirthfulness 
which  ran  through  her  daily  life. 

In  the  spring  of  1837  Mrs.  Payson  sold  her  house  on  Franklin  street  and 
rented  one  in  the  upper  part  of  the  city.  Lizzy  used  to  call  it  "  the  pumpkin 
house,"  because  it  was  old  and  ugly  ;  but  its  situation  and  the  opportunity 
to  indulge  her  rural  tastes  made  amends  for  all  its  defects.  In  a  letter  to 
her  friend  Miss  E.  T.  of  Brooklyn,  N.  Y.,  dated  May  21,  1837,  she  thus 
refers  to  it : 

Since  your  last  letter  arrived  we  have  left  our  pleasant  home  for  an  old  yellow  one 
above  John  NerJ's.  Now  don't  imagine  it  to  be  a  delicate  straw-color,  neither  the  smiling 
hue  of  the  eaily  dandelion.  No,  it  once  shone  forth  in  all  the  glories  of  a  deep  purap- 
kin  ;  but  time's  "  effacing  fingers  "  have  sadly  marred  its  beauty.  Mr.  Neal's  Aunt  Ruth 
a  quiet  old  Quakeress,  occupies  a  part  of  it  and  we  Paysons  bestow  ourselves  in  the  re- 
mainder.    This  comes  to  you  from  its  great  garret.     Here  I  sit  every  night  tiU  after  dark 


23  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    TRKXTISS. 

as  merT>-  as  a  cn'e.  "  The  mind  is  its  own  place."  With  all  the  inconveniencie?  of  the. 
house  I  would  not  cxchanjre  it  at  present  for  any  other  in  the  city.  The  situation  is  per- 
fectly dcli[.'htful.  Casco  Bay  and  part  of  Deering's  Oaks  lie  in  full  view.^  The  Oaks 
arc  within'a  few  minutes'  walk.  Back-Cove  is  seen  beyond,  and  rising  far  above  the 
dJuf  While  Mountains.  The  Arsenal  stares  us  in  the  face,  if  we  look  out  the  end  win- 
dows and  the  Westbrook  meeting-house  is  nearer  than  Mr.  Vail's  by  a  quarter  of  a  mile. 
I  never  believed  there  was  anything  half  so  fine  in  this  region.  I  tliink  nothing  of  walk- 
Jnc  anywhere  now.  One  day,  after  various  domestic  duties,  I  worked  in  my  tiny  garden 
four  hours,  and  in  the  afternoon  a  party  of  girls  came  up  for  me  to  go  with  them  to 
Branilull's  hill.  We  walked  from  three  till  half  past  six,  came  back  and  ate  a  hasty, 
with  some  of  us  a  furious  supper,  and  then  all  paraded  down  to  second  parish  to  sing- 
ing-school. I  expect  to  live  out  in  the  air  most  of  the  summer.  I  mean  to  have  as 
pleasant  a  one  as  possible,  because  we  shall  never  live  so  near  the  Oaks  and  other  pretty 
places  another  summer.  If  you  were  not  so  timid  I  should  wish  you  were  here  to  run 
about  with  me,  but  who  ever  heard  of  E.  T.  running?  Now,  Ellen,  I  never  was  ineant 
to  be  dignified  and  sometimes — yea,  often — I  run,  skip,  hop,  and  once  I  did  climb  over  a 
fence  I    Very  unladylike,  I  know,  but  I  am  not  a  lady. 

In  the  fall  of  1S37  Mrs.  Payson  moved  again.  The  incident  deserves 
mention,  as  it  brought  Lizzy  into  daily  intercourse  with  the  Rev.  Mr. 
French  and  his  wife.  Mr.  French  was  rector  of  the  Episcopal  church  in 
Portland,  and  afterward  Professor  and  Chaplain  at  West  Point.  He  was  a 
man  of  firTe  literary  culture  and  Mrs.  French  was  a  very  attractive  woman. 
In  a  letter  dated  "Night  before  Thanksgiving,"  and  addressed  to  the  early 
friend  already  mentioned,  Lizzy  refers  to  this  removal  and  also  gives  a 
glimpse  of  her  active  home  life  : 

I  have  been  busy  all  day  and  am  so  tired  I  can  scarcely  hold  a  pen.  Amidst  the  beat- 
ing of  eggs,  the  pounding  of  spices,  the  furious  rolling  of  pastry  of  all  degrees  of  short- 
ness, the  filling  of  pies  with  pumpkins,  mince-mcat,  apples,  and  the  like,  the  stoning  of 
raisins  and  washing  of  currants,  the  beating  and  baking  of  cake,  and  all  the  other  iiigSy 
(in  all  of  which  I  have  had  my  share)  thoughts  of  your  ladyship  have  somehow  squeezed 
Ihcmsclvcs  in.  We  have  really  bidden  adieu  to  "  Pumpkin  Place,"  as  Mrs.  Willis  calls 
h,  and  established  ourselves  in  a  house  formerly  occupied  by  old  Parson  Smith— and 
»ery  snug  and  comfortable  we  are,  I  assure  you. 

In  the  midst  of  our  "  moving,"  after  I  had  packed  and  stov/ed  and  lifted,  and  been 
elbowed  by  all  the  sharp  comers  in  the  house,  and  had  my  hands  all  torn  and  scratched, 
I  spied  the  new  ••  Knickerlxjcker"  'mid  a  heap  of  rubbish  and  v/as  tempted  to  peep  into 
k.     I^  and  bcholfl,  ijjc  first  thing  that  met  my  eye  was  the  Lament  of  the  Last  Peach.' 
I  didn't  care  13  read  more  and  forthwith  returned  to  fitting  of  carpets  and  arranging 
»  I  can  see  the  breezy  dome  of  groves, 
The  sharlows  of  Decring's  Woods  ; 
And  the  fricndsliips  old  and  the  early  loves 
Come  back  with  a  Sabbath  sound,  as  of  doves 
In  quiet  neiphborh(KKls. 
And  the  verse  of  that  sweet  old  song, 
It  flutters  .ind  murmurs  still : 
•'  A  l)oy's  will  is  the  wind's  will, 
A'   I  •».-  thoughts  of  youth  are  long,  long  thoughts.;" 

— LONGKKLLOW'S  My  Lost  Youth. 
•"The  I-v:u:,t  ,.,  u,c  Ust  Poach  "had  boon  written  by  her  a  year  before  when  in 


THE   CHILD   AND   THE   GIRL. 


■3 


tables  and  chairs  and  bureaus — but  all  the  while  meditating  how  I  should  be  revenged 

upon  you.     As  t  > 's  request  I  am  sorry  to  answer  nay  ;  for  I  feel  it  would  be  the 

greatest  presumption  in  me  to  think  of  writing  for  a  magazine  hke  that.  I  do  not  wish 
to  publish  anything,  anywhere,  though  it  would  be  quite  as  wise  as  to  entrust  my  scraps 
to  your  care.  My  mother  often  urges  me  to  send  little  things  which  she  happens  to 
fancy,  to  this  and  that  periodical.  Without  her  interference  nothing  of  mine  would  evei 
have  found  its  way  into  print.  But  mammas  look  with  rose-colored  spectacles  on  the 
actions  and  performances  of  their  offspring.  Have  you  laughed  over  the  Pickwick 
Papers  ?  We  have  almost  laughed  ourselves  to  death  over  them.  I  have  not  seen  Lirzy 
D.  for  a  long  time,  but  hear  she  is  getting  along  rapidly.     If  I  could  go  to  school  two 

years  more,  I  should  be  glad,  but  of  course  that  is  out  of  the  question It  is  easier 

for  you  to  write  often  than  it  is  for  me.  You  have  not  three  tearing,  growing  brothers 
to  mend  and  make  for.  I  am  become  quite  expert  in  the  arts  of  patching  and  darning. 
I  am  going  to  get  some  pies  and  cake  and  raisins  and  other  goodies  to  send  to  our  girl's 
sick  brother.  If  I  had  not  so  dear  and  happy  a  home,  I  should  envy  you  yours.  You  say 
you  do  not  remember  whether  I  love  music  or  not.  I  love  it  extravagantly  sometimes — 
out  have  not  the  knowledge  to  enjoy  scientific  performances.  The  simple  melody  of  a 
single  voice  is  my  delight.  Mrs.  French,  the  Episcopal  minister's  wife,  who  is  a  great 
friend  of  ours  and  lives  next  door  (so  near  that  she  and  sister  talk  togetlier  out  of  their 
windows),  has  a  baby  two  days  old  with  black  curly  hair  and  black  eyes,  and  I  shall  have 
nice  time  with  it  this  winter.     Do  you  love  babies  ? 

The  question  with  which  this  letter  closes,  suggests  one  of  Lizzy's  most 

Brooklyn,  and  her  friend's  brother  had  sent  it  to  '*  The  Knickerbocker,"  the  populai 
Magazine  of  that  day.     Here  it  is  : 

LAMENT  OF  THE   LAST  PEACH. 
In  solemn  silence  here  I  live, 

A  lone,  deserted  peach  ; 
So  high  that  none  but  birds  and  winds 

My  quiet  bough  can  reach. 
And  mournfully,  and  hopelessly, 

I  think  upon  the  past ; 
Upon  my  dear  departed  friends. 

And  I,  the  last— the  last. 

My  friends  !  oh,  daily  one  by  one 

I've  seen  them  drop  away  ; 
Unheeding  all  the  tears  and  prayers 

That  vainly  bade  them  stay. 
And  here  I  hang  alone,  alone — 

While  life  is  Heeing  fast ; 
And  sadly  sigli  that  I  am  left 

The  last,  the  last,  the  last. 

Farewell,  then,  thou  my  little  world 

My  home  upon  tlie  tree, 
A  sweet  retreat,  a  quiet  home 

Thou  mayst  no  longer  be  ; 
The  willow  trees  stand  weeping  nigh. 

The  sky  is  overcast. 
The  autumn  winds  moan  sadly  by, 

And  say,  the  last — the  last  I 


^^  THE   LIFE   OF  MRS.    FRENTTSS. 

slrikm.ir  and  loveliest  traits.  She  had  a  perfect  passion  for  babies,  and 
reveled  in  tending,  kissing,  and  playing  with  them.  Here  are  some  pretty 
lines  in  one  of  her  girlish  contributions  to  "  The  Youth's  Companion,"  which 
express  her  feeling  about  them  : 

WHiat  are  little  babies  for  ?  Can  they  walk  upon  their  feet  ? 

Say  I  say  !  say  I  Say  !  say  !  say  1 

Are  they  good-for-nothing  things  ?  Can  they  even  hold  themselves  ? 

Nay  nay  !  nay  !  Nay  !  nay  !  nay  ! 

Can  they  speak  a  single  word  ?  What  are  little  babies  for  ? 

Say  !  say  !  say  !  Say  !  say  !  say  ! 

Can  they  help  their  mothers  sew  ?  Are  they  made  for  us  to  love  ? 

Nay  !  nay  !  nay  1  y^a!  Yea  !  !  YEA  !  !  ! 

In  the  fall  of  1838  Mrs.  Payson  purchased  a  house  in  Cumberland  street, 
whicii  continued  to  be  her  residence  until  the  family  was  broken  up.  You 
remember  the  charming  little  room  Lizzy  had  fitted  up  over  the  hall  in  this 
house,  how  nicely  she  kept  it.  and  how  happy  she  w^as  in  it.  One  of  the 
\^  indows  looked  out  on  a  little  flower  garden  and  at  the  close  of  the  long 
summer  days  the  sunset  could  be  enjoyed  from  the  west  window.  She  had 
had  some  tine  books  given  her,  which,  added  to  the  previous  store,  made  a 
somewhat  rare  collection  for  a  young  girl  in  tho-e  days. 

About  this  time,  having  been  relieved  of  her  part  of  domestic  service  by 
the  coming  into  the  family  of  a  young  relative — whose  devotion  to  her  was 
unbounded — she  opened  in  the  house  a  school  for  little  girls.  It  consisted 
at  first  of  perhaps  eight  or  ten,  but  their  number  increased  until  the  house 
could  scarcely  hold  them.  She  was  a  born  teacher  and  her  young  pupils 
fairly  idolized  her.'  In  this  year,  too,  she  took  a  class  in  the  Sabbath- 
school  composed  of  nearly  the  same  group  who  surrounded  her  on  the 
week-days,  and  tlicy  remained  under  her  care  as  long  as  she  lived  in 
Portland. 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Vail  having  retired  from  the  pastorate  of  the  second 
parish  in  the  autumn  of  1837,  Cyrus  Hamhn,  just  from  the  Theological 
.Seminary  at  IJangor.  became  the  stated  supply  for  some  months.  His 
prc.nching  attracted  the  young  people  and  during  tlie  winter  and  spring 
ihcrc  was  much  interest  in  all  the  Congregational  churches.  Following 
I  he  example  of  the  other  pastors,  Mr.  Hamlin  invited  persons  seriously  dis- 
pciscil  to  nu-rt  him  for  religious  conversation.  Elizabeth  besought  me, 
with  all  possible  earnestness  and  alTection,  to  "go  to  Mr.  Hamlin's  meeting." 
( )nc  day  she  came  to  sec  me  a  short  time  before  the  hour,  saying  that  I 
was  ever  on  her  mind  and  in  her  prayers,  that  she  had  talked  with  Mr. 
Hamlin  al>out  mc,  nor  would  she  leave  me  until  I  had  promised  to  attend 
the  mcelinjr.  1  did  so  ;  and  from  that  time  we  were  united  in  the  strong 
jonds  of  Christian  love  and  sympathy.     What  a  spiritual  helper  she  was 

•  ••  I>ar  Liizy  is  in  her  little  sc1uk»1.     I  ler  pupils  love  her  dearly.    She  will  have  about 
Ih.rly  in  Ihc  summer.*— z:«.//^r  0/  Mrs.  Payson,  Match  2S,  1S39. 


THE   CHILD    AND   THE   GIRL.  2$ 

to  me  in  those  days  !  What  precious  notes  I  was  all  the  time  receiving 
from  her!  The  memory  of  her  tender,  faithful  friendship  is  still  fresh  and 
delightful,  after  the  lapse  of  more  than  forty  years.' 

In  the  summer  of  1838  the  Rev.  Jonathan  B.  Condit,  D.D.,  was  calico 
from  his  chair  in  Amherst  College  and  installed  pastor  of  our  church.  He 
was  a  man  of  very  graceful  and  winning  manners  and  wonderfully  mng- 
netic.  He  at  once  became  almost  an  object  of  worship  with  the  enthu- 
siastic young  people.  The  services  of  the  Sabbath  and  the  weekly  meetings 
were  delightful.  The  young  ladies  had  a  praying  circle  which  met  every 
Saturday  afternoon,  full  of  life  and  sunshine.  Indeed,  the  exclusive  inter- 
est of  the  season  was  religious ;  our  reading  and  conversation  were  relig- 
ious ;  well-nigh  the  sole  subject  of  thought  was  learning  something  new  of 
our  Saviour  and  His  blessed  service.  All  Lizzy's  friends  and  several  of 
her  own  family  were  rejoicing  in  hope.  And  she  herself  was  radiant  with 
joy.  For  a  little  while  it  seemed  almost  as  if  the  shadows  in  the  Christian 
path  had  fled  away,  and  the  crosses  vanished  out  of  sight.  The  winter 
and  spring  of  1840  witnessed  another  period  of  general  religious  interest 
in  Portland.  Large  numbers  were  gathered  into  the  churches.  Lizzy  was 
greatly  impressed  by  the  work,  her  own  Christian  life  was  deepened  and 
widened,  she  was  blessed  in  guiding  several  members  of  her  beloved  Sun- 
day-school class  to  the  Saviour,  and  was  thus  prepared,  also,  for  the  sharp 
trial  awaiting  her  in  the  autumn  of  the  same  year,  when  she  left  her  home 
and  mother  for  a  long  absence  in  Richmond. 

From  her  earliest  years  she  was  in  the  habit  of  keeping  a  journal,  and 
she  must  have  filled  several  volumes.  I  wonder  that  she  did  not  preserve 
them  as  mementos  of  her  childhood  and  youth.  Perhaps  because  her  after- 
life was  so.  happy  that  she  never  needed  to  refer  to  such  reminiscences  of 
days  gone  by. 

I  have  thus  given  you,  in  a  very  informal  manner,  some  recollections  of 
her  earlier  years.  I  have  been  astonished  to  find  how  vividly  I  recalled 
scenes,  events  and  conversations  so  long  past.  I  was  startled  and  shocked 
when  the  news  came  of  her  sudden  death.  But  I  can  not  feel  that  she  was 
called  to  her  rest  too  soon.  She  seemed  to  me  singularly  happy  in  all  the 
relations  of  life ;  and  then  as  an  author,  hers  was  an  exceptional  case  ol 
full  appreciation  and  success.  I  have  ever  regarded  her  as  "  fovored  among 
women" — blessed  in  doing  her  Master's  will  and  testifying  for  Him,  blessed 
in  her  home,  in  her  friends,  and  in  her  work,  and  blessed  in  her  death. 

Portland,  December  31,  1878. 

»  Three  years  later  Elizabeth  thus  referred  to  this  period  in  the  life  of  her  friend  :— 
•'  During  the  time  in  which  she  was  seeking  the  Saviour  with  all  her  heart,  I  was  much 
with  her  and  had  an  opportunity  to  see  every  variety  of  feeling  as  she  daily  set  the  whole 
before  me.  The  affection  thus  acquired  is,  I  believe,  never  lost.  If  I  live  forever,  I  shall 
not  lose  the  impressions  which  I  then  received— the  deep  anxiety  I  felt  lest  she  should 
finally  come  short  of  salvation,  and  tlien  the  happiness  of  having  her  lost  in  contempla- 
tion of  the  character  of  Him  whom  she  had  so  often  declared  it  impossible  to  love." 


26  TIN-    LHF.   OF    MRS.    PRENTISS. 


IV. 

Hic  Dnmin.-int  Tj-pc  of  Religious  Life  and  Thoup:lit  in  New  England  in  the  First  Hall 
of  this  Centuiy.  Literary  Influences.  Letter  of  Cyrus  Hamlin.  A  Strange  Coin- 
cidence. 

A  IJRIKF  notice  of  the  general  type  of  religious  life  and 
thought,  which  prevailed  at  this  time  in  New  England,  will 
throw  light  upon  both  the  preceding  and  following  pages. 
Elizabeth's  early  Christian  character,  although  largely  shaped 
by  that  of  her  father,  was  also,  like  his,  vitally  affected  by  the 
religious  spirit  and  methods  then  dominant.  Several  distinct 
elements  entered  into  the  piety  of  New^  England  at  that 
period,  (i.)  There  was,  first  of  all,  the  old  Puritan  element 
which  the  Pilgrim  Fathers  and  their  immediate  successors 
brought  witii  them  from  the  mother-country,  and  which  had 
been  nourished  by  the  writings  of  the  great  Puritan  divines 
of  the  seventeenth  century  —  such  as  Baxter,  Howe,  Bunyan, 
Owen,  Matthew  Menry,  and  Flavcl — by  the  ''  Imitation  of 
Christ,"  and  Bishop  Taylor's  "  Holy  Living  and  Dying,"  and 
by  such  writers  as  Doddridge,  Watts,  and  Jonathan  Edwards 
of  I  lie  last  century.  This  lay  at  the  foundation  of  the  whole 
structure,  giving  it  strength,  solidity,  earnestness,  and  power. 
(2.)  But  it  was  modified  by  the  so-called  Evangelical  element, 
which  marked  large  sections  of  the  Church  of  England  and 
most  of  tlie  Dissenting  bodies  in  Great  Britain  during  the  last 
half  of  the  eighteenth  and  the  early  part  of  the  nineteenth 
ccntur>'.  The  writings  of  Jolm  Newton,  Richard  Cecil,  Han- 
nah More,  Thomas  Scott,  Cowper,  Wilberforce,  Leigh  Rich- 
mond. John  Foster,  Andrew  Fuller,  and  Robert  Hall— not  to 
mention  others— were  widely  circulated  in  New  England  and 
had  };reat  influence  in  its  pulpits  and  its  Christian  homes. 
Their  admirable  spirit  infused  itself  into  thousands  of  lives, 
and  helped  in  many  ways  to  improve  the  general  tone  both  of 
theological  and  devotional  sentiment.  (3.)  But  another  ele- 
ment still  was  the  new  Evangelistic  spirit,  which  inaugurated 
nnd  still  informs  those  great  movements  of  Christian  benevo- 
ience,  both  at  home  and  abroad,  that  are  the  glory  of  the  age. 


THE   CHILD   AND   THE   CTRL.  2; 

Dr.  Payson's  ministiy  began  just  before  the  formation  of  the 
American  Board  of  Commissioners  for  Foreign  Missions,  and 
before  his  death  mission-work  had  come  to  be  regarded  as 
quite  essential  to  the  piety  and  prosperity  of  the  Church.  The 
Lives  of  David  Brainerd,  Henry  Martyn,  Harriet  Newell,  and 
others  like  them,  were  household  books.  (4.)  Nor  should  llie 
"  revival "  element  be  omitted  in  enumerating  the  forces  thai 
then  shaped  the  piety  and  religious  thought  of  New  England. 
The  growth  of  the  Church  and  the  advancement  of  the  cause 
of  Christ  were  regarded  as  inseparable  from  this  influence.  A 
revival  was  the  constant  object  of  prayer  and  effort  on  the 
part  of  earnest  pastors  and  of  the  more  devout  among  the 
people.  Far  more  stress  was  laid  upon  special  seasons  and 
measures  of  spiritual  interest  and  activity  than  now  —  less 
upon  Christian  nurture  as  a  means  of  grace,  and  upon  the 
steady,  normal  development  of  church  life.  Many  of  the 
most  eminent,  devoted,  and  useful  servants  of  Christ,  whose 
names,  during  the  last  half  century,  have  adorned  the  annals 
of  American  faith  and  zeal,  owed  their  conversion,  or,  if  not 
their  conversion,  some  of  their  noblest  and  strongest  Christian 
impulses,  to  "revivals  of  religion."  (5.)  To  all  these  should, 
perhaps,  be  added  another  element — namely,  that  of  the 
new  spirit  of  reform  and  the  new  ethical  tone,  which,  during 
the  third  and  fourth  decades  of  this  century  especially, 
wrought  with  such  power  in  New  England.  Of  this  influence 
and  of  the  philanthropic  idea  that  inspired  it,  Dr.  Channing 
may  be  regarded  as  the  most  eminent  representative.  It 
brought  to  the  front  the  humanity  and  moral  teaching  of 
Christ,  as  at  once  the  pattern  and  rule  of  all  true  progress, 
whether  individual  or  social;  and  it  was  widely  felt,  even 
where  it  was  not  distinctly  recognised  or  understood.  What^ 
ever  errors  or  imperfections  may  have  belonged  to  it,  this  in- 
fluence did  much  to  soften  the  dogmatism  of  opinion,  to 
arouse  a  more  generous,  catholic  type  of  sentiment,  to  show 
that  the  piety  of  the  New  Testament  is  a  principle  of  universal 
love  to  man,  as  well  as  of  love  to  God,  and  to  emphasise  the 
sovereign  claims  of  personal  virtue  and  social  justice.  These 
truths,   to  be  sure,  were  not   new;   but   in  the  great  moral- 


28  'II IK  i.iri:  ov  mks.  prentiss. 

reform  niDvcmciits  and  conflicts— to  a  certain  extent  even  i' 
ihcological  discussions— that  marked  the  times,  they  were  as 
sorted  and  applied  with  extraordinary  clearness  and  energy  ol 
conviction  ;  and,  as  the  event  has  proved,  they  were  harbinger-j 
of  a  new  era  of  Christian  thought,  culture  and  conduct,  both 
in  private  and  public  life. 

Such  were  some  of  the  religious  influences  which  surrounded 
Mrs.  Prentiss  during  the  first  twenty  years  of  her  life,  and 
which  lielpcd  to  form  her  character.  She  was  also  strongly 
affected,  especially  while  passing  from  girlhood  into  early 
womanhood,  by  the  Hterary  influences  of  the  day.  Poetry 
and  fiction  were  her  delight.  She  was  very  fond  of  Words- 
worth, Temiyson,  and  Longfellow;  while  the  successive  vol- 
umes of  Dickens  were  read  by  her  with  the  utmost  avidity. 
Mrs.  l*ayson's  house  was  a  good  deal  visited  by  scholars  and 
men  of  culture.  Her  eldest  daughter  had  already  become 
somewhat  widely  known  by  her  writings.  In  the  extent, 
variety  and  character  of  her  attainments  she  was,  in  truth,  a 
marvel.  Indeed,  she  quite  overshadowed  the  younger  sister 
by  her  learning  and  her  highly  intellectual  conversation.  And 
yet  Elizabeth  also  attracted  no  little  attention  from  some 
who  had  been  first  drawn  to  the  house  by  their  friendship  for 
Louisa.'  Among  her  warmest  admirers  was  Mr.  John  Neal, 
tiicn  well  known  as  a  nian  of  letters;  he  predicted  for  her  a 
bright  career  as  an  author.  Still,  it  was  her  personal  character 
that  most  interested  the  visitors  at  her  mother's  house.  This 
may  be  illustrated  by  an  extract  from  a  letter  of  Mr.  Hamlin 
to  a  friend  of  the  family  in  New  York,  written  in  April,  1838, 
while  he  was  their  temporary  pastor.  Mr.  Hamlin  has  since 
become  known  throughout  the  Christian  world  by  his  remaik- 
ablc  career  as  a  missionary  in  Turkey,  and  as  organiser  of 
Robert  College.  A  few  months  after  the  letter  was  written 
he  .set  sail  for  Constantinople,  accompanied  by  his  wife,  whose 

'  Old  friends  of  her  fall,cr  also  became  much  interested  in  her.  Amon-  them  v.os 
S.  n..M  Crecnlc.if.  the  cniincnl  writer  on  the  law  of  evidence,  and  Jud^re  Story's  successor 
•l  Harvard.  On  removing  to  Cambridge,  in  1833,  be  gave  her  vith  his  autograpli  a  Ut- 
ile volnmc  entitled,  ••  Hours  for  Heaven  ;  a  small  but  clioice  selection  of  prayers,  from 
eminent  D.v.nc^  of  U.e  Church  of  England,"  which  long  continued  to  be  one  cf  he, 
t»>ok!>  ol  dcvoUua. 


THE   CHILD   AND   THE   GIRL.  29 

early  death  was  the  cause  of  so  much  grief  among  all  who 
knew  her.' 

I  should  like  to  write  a  long  letter  about  clear  Elizabeth.  I  have  seen 
lier  more  since  Louisa  left  and  1  love  her  more.  She  has  a  peculiar  charn. 
for  me.     I  think  she  has  a  quick  and  excellent  judgment,  refined  senrihll- 

itics,   and   an  ijistinctivc  perception   of  what   is  fit  and  proper It 

seems  to  me  there  is  a  great  deal  of  purity— of  the  spiyitiiclle — about  her 
feelings.  But  I  can  not  tell  you  exactly  what  it  is  that  makes  me  think  so 
highly  of  her.  It  is  a  nameless  something  resulting  from  her  whole  self, 
from  her  sweet  face  and  mouth,  her  eye  full  of  love  and  soul,  her  form  and 
motion.  I  do  not  think  she  likes  me  much,  1  have  paid  so  much  attention 
to  Louisa  and  so  little  to  herself.  Yet  she  is  not  one  of  those  who  claim 
attention,  but  rather  shrinks  from  it.  She  may  have  faults  of  which  1  have 
no  knowledge.     But  I  am  charmed  with  everything  I  have  seen  of  her. 

How  strange  are  the  chance  coincidences  of  human  life ! 
In  another  letter  to  the  same  friend  in  New  York,  in  which 
Mr.  Hamlin  refers  in  a  similar  manner  to  Elizabeth,  occur 
these  words : 

In  a  few  weeks  I  hope  to  be  in  Dorset,  among  the  Green  Mountains, 
where  my  thoughts  and  feelings  have  their  centre  above  all  places  on  this 
eardi.  1  wish  you  could  be  present  at  my  wedding  there  on  the  third  of 
September. 

How  little  did  he  dream,  when  penning  these  words,  or  did 
his  friend  dream  while  reading  them,  that,  after  the  lapse  of 
more  than  forty  years,  the  ''  dear  Elizabeth  "  would  find  her 
grave  near  by  the  old  parsonage  in  which  that  wedding  was 
to  be  celebrated,  while  the  dust  of  the  lovely  daughter  of 
Dorset  would  be  sleeping  on  the  distant  shores  of  the  Bos- 
phorus ! 

1  See  the  touching  memorial  of  lier,  "  Light  on  the  Dark  River,"  prepared  by  he» 
sarly  friend,  Mrs.  Lawrence. 


CHAPTER   II. 

THE  NEW   LIFE   IN   CHRIST. 

1 840-1 841. 

I. 

A  Memorable  Experience.     Letters  to  her  Cousin.     Goes  to  Richmond  as  a  Teacler, 

Mr.  Persico's  School.     Letters. 

Miss  P.vvson  was  now  in  her  twenty-first  year,  a  period 
which  she  always  looked  back  to  as  a  turning-point  in  her 
spiritual  history.  The  domestic  influences  that  encompassed 
her  childhood,  her  early  associations,  and  the  books  of  devo- 
tion which  she  read,  all  conspired  to  imbue  her  with  an  earnest 
sense  of  divine  things,  and  while  yet  a  young  girl,  as  we  have 
seen,  she  publicly  devoted  herself  to  the  service  of  her  God 
and  Saviour.  For  several  years  her  piety,  if  marked  by  no 
special  features,  was  still  regarded  by  her  young  friends,  and 
by  all  who  knew  her,  as  of  a  decided  character.  But  during  the 
^'cneral  religious  interest  in  the  winter  of  1837-8,  even  while 
absorbed  in  solicitude  for  others,  she  began  herself  to  question 
its  reality.  "  l'(^r  some  months  I  had  no  hope  that  I  was  a 
Christian,  and  />nWi^  made  me  go  on  just  as  if  I  felt  myself 
perfectly  safe.  Nothing  could  at  that  time  have  made  me 
^villi^g  to  have  any  eye  a  witness  to  my  daily  struggles." 
And  yet  she  "often  longed  for  the  sympathy  and  assistance 
of  Christian  friends,"  and  to  her  unwillingness  to  confide  in 
Ihcm  she  afterwards  attributed  much  of  the  suffering  that  fol- 
lowed.  ••  I  do  not  know  exactl\-  how  I  passed  out  of  that 
8ca.son.  but  my  school  commenced  in  April,  and  I  became  so 
interested  in  it  that  1  lud  less  time  to  tliink  of  and  to  watch 
myself.     The  next   winter  most   of  mv  schol:u-s  were  deeply 


THE   NEW   LIFE   IN   CHRIST.  3I 

impressed  by  divine  things,  and,  of  course,  I  could  not  look  on 
without  having  my  own  heart  touched.  It  was  my  privilege 
to  spend  many  delightful  weeks  in  watching  the  progress  of 
minds  earnestly  seeking  the  way  of  life  and  early  consecrat- 
ing themselves  to  their  Saviour."  '  But  after  a  while  a  se- 
vere reaction  set  in  and  in  the  course  of  the  summer  she  be- 
came careless  in  her  religious  habits,  shrank  from  the  Lord's 
table  as  a  "place  of  absolute  torture,"  and  while  spending  a 
fortnight  in  Boston  in  the  fall,  entirely  omitted  all  exercises  of 
private  devotion. 

She  had  now  reached  a  crisis  which  was  to  decide  her  course 
for  life.  During  the  winter  of  1839-40,  she  passed  through 
very  deep  and  harrowing  exercises  of  soul.  Her  spiritual  nat- 
ure was  shaken  to  its  foundation,  and  she  could  say  with  the 
Psalmist,  Out  of  the  depths  have  I  cried  imto  Thee,  O  Lord. 
For  several  months  she  was  in  a  state  similar  to  that  which 
the  old  divines  depict  so  vividly  as  being  "  under  conviction." 
Her  sense  of  sin,  and  of  her  own  unworthiness  in  the  sight  of 
God,  grew  more  and  more  intense  and  oppressive.  At  times 
she  abandoned  all  hope,  accused  herself  of  having  played  the 
hypocrite,  and  fancied  she  was  given  over  to  hardness  of  heart. 
At  length  she  sought  counsel  of  her  pastor  and  confided  to 
him  her  trouble,  but  he  *'  did  not  know  exactly  what  to  do 
with  me."  In  the  midst  of  her  distress,  and  as  its  effect,  no 
doubt,  she  was  taken  ill  and  confined  to  her  room,  where  in 
solitude  she  passed  several  weeks  seeking  rest  and  finding 
none.  "  Sometimes  I  tried  to  pray,  but  this  only  increased 
my  distress  and  made  me  cry  out  for  annihilation  to  free  've 
from  the  agony  which  seemed  insupportable."  With  a  single 
interval  of  comparative  indifference,  this  state  of  mind  c^.n- 
tinued  for  nearly  four  months.     She  thus  describes  it : 

It  was  in  vain  that  I  sought  the  Lord  in  any  of  the  lofty  jialli- 
ways  through  which  my  heart  wished  to  go.    At  last  I  found  il 

^  She  lefers  to  this,  doubUess,  in  a  note  to  Mr.  Hamlin,  dated  March  28,  1839.  Mr. 
H.  was  then  in  Constantinople.  "  It  seems  as  if  a  letter  to  go  so  far  ought  to  be  a  good 
one,  so  I  am  afraid  to  write  to  you.  But  we  '■  tliink  to  yon'  every  day,  and  hope  you 
think  of  us  sometimes.  I  have  been  so  happy  all  winter  that  I  have  some  liappincii  ic 
Epare,  and  if  you  need  any  you  bhall  have  as  much  as  you  want." 


,3  TIIK    lAVE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

impossible  to  carry  on  the  struggle  any  longer  alone.  I  would 
Klacllv  liavc  put  mvself  at  the  feet  of  a  little  child,  if  by  so  do- 
iuo-  I'could  have  found  peace.  I  felt  so  guilty  and  the  charac- 
ter of  God  appeared  so  perfect  in  its  purity  and  holiness,  that 
I  kncxv  not  which  way  to  turn.  The  sin  which  distressed  me 
most  of  all  was  the  rejection  of  the  Saviour.  This  haunted  me 
constantly  and  made  me  fly  first  to  one  thing  and  then  another, 
in  the  hope  of  finding  somewhere  the  peace  which  I  would  not 
accept  from  Him.  It  was  at  this  time  that  I  kept  reading  over 
the  first  twelve  chapters  of  Doddridge's  "  Rise  and  Progress,"— 
I  he  rest  of  the  book  I  abhorred.  So  great  was  my  agony  that 
I  can  only  wonder  at  the  goodness  of  Him  who  held  my  life  in 
His  hands,  and  would  not  permit  me  in  the  height  of  my  de- 
spair to  throw  myself  away. 

It  was  in  tills  height  of  despair  that  thoughts  of  the  infinite 
grace  and  love  of  Christ,  which  she  says  she  had  hitherto  re- 
pelled, began  to  irradiate  her  soul.     A  sermon  on  His  ability 
to  iuive  "  unto  the  uttermost  "  deeply  affected  her.'     "While 
listening  to  it  my  weary  spirit  rested  itself,  and  I   thought, 
Vsurcly  it  can  not  be  wrong  to  think  of  the  Saviour,  although 
He  is  not  mine.'     With  this  conclusion  I  gave  myself  up  to 
admire,  to  love  and  to  praise  Him,  to  wonder  why  I  had  never 
done  so  before,  and  to  hope  that  all  the  great  congregation 
around  me  were  joining  with  mc  in  acknowledging  Him  to  be 
chief  among  ten  thousand  and  the  One  altogether  lovely."    On 
going  home  she  could  at  first  scarcely  believe  in  her  own  ident- 
ity, the  feeling  of  peace  and  love  to  God  and  to  all  the  world 
was  so  unlike  the  turbulent  emotions  that  had  lone:  a^ritated 
licr  soul.     **  From   this  time  my  mind  went  slowly  onward, 
examining  the  way  step    by  step,  trembling   and   afraid,  yet 
filled  with  a  calm  contentment  which  made  all  the  dealings 
of  God  with  mc  appear  just  right.     I  know  myself  to  be  per- 
fectly liclpless.     I  can   not  promise  to  do  or  to  be  anything; 
but   I   do  want  to  put  everything  else  aside,  and  to  devote 
myself  entirely  to  the  service  of  Christ." 

Her  account  of  this  memorable  experience  is  dated  August 
28,   1840.     "While  writing  it,"  she  adds,  ''I  have  often  laid 

'  Tl>c  sermon  wa«  n'cachcd  by  her  pastor,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Condit,  April  19th. 


THE    NEW    LIFE    IN    CHRIST.  33 

aside  my  pen,  to  sit  and  think  over  in  silent  wonder  the  way 
in  wliich  the  Lord  has  led  me." 

How  in  later  years  she  regarded  certain  features  of  this  ex- 
perience, is  not  fully  known.  The  record  passed  at  once  out 
of  her  hands,  and  until  after  her  death  was  never  seen  by  any- 
one, excepting  the  friend  for  whose  eye  it  was  written.  Many 
of  its  details  had,  probably,  faded  entirely  from  her  memory. 
It  can  not  be  doubted,  however,  that  she  would  have  judged 
her  previous  state  much  less  severely,  would  hardly  have 
charged  it  with  hypocrisy,  or  denied  that  the  Saviour  had 
been  graciously  leading  her,  and  that  she  had  some  real  love 
to  Him,  before  as  well  as  after  this  crisis.  So  much  may  be 
inferred  from  the  record  itself  and  from  the  narrative  in  the 
preceding  chapter.  Her  tender  interest  in  the  spiritual  wel- 
fare of  her  friends  and  pupils,  the  high  tone  of  religious  senti- 
m.ent  that  marks  her  early  writings,  the  books  she  delighted 
in,  her  filial  devotion,  the  absolute  sincerity  of  her  character, 
all  forbid  any  other  conclusion.'  The  indications,  too,  are 
very  plain  that  her  morbidly-sensitive,  melancholy  tempera- 
ment had  much  to  do  with  this  experience.  Her  account  of 
it  shows,  also,  that  her  mind  was  unhappily  affected  by  cer- 
tain false  notions  of  the  Christian  life  and  ordinances  then,  and 
still,  more  or  less  prevalent — notions  based  upon  a  too  narrow 
and  legal  conception   of  the  Gospel.     Hence,   her  shrinking 

'  There  is  one  thing  I  recall  as  showing  the  very  early  religious  tendency  of  Lizzy's 
mind.  It  was  a  little  prayer -meeting  which  she  held  with  a  few  little  friends,  as  long 
ago  as  her  sister  kept  school  in  the  large  parlor  of  the  house  on  Middle  street,  before  the 
death  of  her  father.  It  assembled  at  odd  hours  and  in  odd  places.  I  also  remember  her 
interest  in  the  spiritual  welfare  of  her  young  companions,  after  the  return  of  the  family 
from  their  sojourn  in  New  York.  She  showed  this  by  accompanying  some  of  us,  in  tlie 
way  of  encouragement,  to  Dr.  Tyler's  inquiry-meeting.  Then  during  the  special  relig- 
ious interest  of  1838,  she  felt  still  more  deeply  and  entered  heartily  into  the  rejoicing  of 
those  of  us  who  at  that  time  found  "  peace  in  believing."  The  next  year  I  accompanied 
my  elder  sister  Susan  to  Richmond,  and  during  my  absence  she  gave  up  her  Christian 
hope  and  passed  through  a  season  of  great  darkness  and  despondency,  emerging,  how- 
ever, into  the  light  upon  a  higher  plane  of  religious  experience  and  enjoyment.  She 
sometimes  thought  this  the  very  beginning  of  the  life  of  faith  in  her  soul.  Put  as  I 
used  to  say  to  her  when  the  next  year  we  were  together  at  Richmond,  it  seemed  to  me 
quite  impossible  that  any  one  who  had  not  already  received  the  grace  of  God,  con/J 
hav-  felt  what  she  had  felt  and  expressed.  I  do  not  doubt  in  the  least  that  for  years  she 
had  been  a  ti-ue  follower  of  Christ.— Z<?//^r  /rom  MiiS  Ann  LouUa  P.  Lord,  dated 
Portla7id,  December  30,  1878. 

3 


34  Tin-     LIFE   OF    MRS.    PRENTISS. 

from  the  Lord's  table  as  a  place  of  "  torture,"  instead  of  re- 
{Tardin^T  it  in  its  true  character,  as  instituted  on  purpose  to 
feed  hungry  souls,  like  her  own,  with  bread  from  heaven.  But 
for  all  that,  the  experience  was  a  blessed  reality  and,  as  these 
pnc^es  will  attest,  wrought  a  lasting  change  in  her  religious 
hfe.  No  doubt  the  Spirit  of  God  was  leading  her  through  all 
ils  dark  and  terrible  mazes.  It  virtually  ended  a  conflict 
which  the  intensely  proud  elements  of  her  nature  rendered 
inevitable,  if  she  was  to  become  a  true  heroine  of  faith — the 
conflict  between  her  Master's  will  and  her  own.  Her  Master 
conquered,  and  henceforth  to  her  dying  hour  His  will  was  the 
sovereign  law  of  her  existence,  and  its  sweetest  joy  also. 

The  following  extracts  from  letters  to  her  cousin,  George  E. 
Shipman,  of  New  York,  now  widely  known  as  the  founder  of 
a  Foundling  Home  at  Chicago,  will  throw  additional  light 
upon  her  state  of  mind  at  this  period.  Mr.  Shipman  was  the 
friend  to  whom  the  account  of  her  experience  already  men- 
tioned was  addressed.  He  had  just  spent  several  weeks  in 
Portland,  and  to  his  Christian  sympathy,  kindness,  and  coun- 
sels while  there  and  during  the  two  following  years,  she  felt 
herself  very  deeply  indebted.^ 

Portland,  August  22,  1840. 

I  AM  always  wondering  if  any  body  in  the  world  is  the  better 
off  for  my  being  in  it.  And  so  if  I  was  of  any  comfort  to  you,  I 
am  very  glad  of  it.  I  do  want,  I  confess,  the  privilege  of  offer- 
ing you  sometimes  the  wine  and  oil  of  consolation,  and  if  I  do 
it  in  such  a  way  as  to  cause  pain  with  my  unskilful  hand,  why, 

you   must   forgive  me Mr.   talked  to  me  as    if   he 

imagined  nic  a  blue-stocking.  Just  because  my  sister  wears 
.spectacles,  folks  take  it  for  granted  that  I  also  am  literary. 

^KK'-  25///. — You  ask  if  I  tind  it  easy  to  engage  in  religious 
meditation,  referring  in  i)artieular  to  that  on  our  final  rest.  This 
is  another  of  my  trials.  I  can  not  meditate  upon  anything,  ex- 
cept indeed  it  be  something  (|uite  the  opposite  of  what  I  wish 
10  occu[)y  my  mind.     You   know  tiiat  some  Christians  are  able 

»  It  may  l>e  proper  to  say  hen-,  that  wliile  but  few  of  her  letters  are  given  entire,  it  has 
oot  l»ccn  deemed  needful  siiecially  to  indicate  all  the  omissions.  In  some  instances,  also, 
whsre  two  letters,  or  passa-cs  of  letter-;.  r-Uite  to  the  same  subject,  they  have  been  conv 
billed. 


THE   NEW    LIFE    IN   CHRIST. 


3S 


in  their  solitary  walks  and  rides  to  hold,  all  the  time,  commun- 
ion  with  God.  I  can  very  seldom  do  this.  Yesterday  I  was 
obliged  to  take  a  long  walk  alone,  and  it  was  made  very  de- 
lightful in  this  way  ;  so  that  I  quite  forgot  that  I  was  aione. 
...  I  am  beginning  to  feel,  that  I  have  enough  to  do  with- 
out looking  out  for  a  great,  wide  place  in  which  to  work,  and 
to  appreciate  the  simple  lines  : 

"The  trivial  round,  the  common  task, 
Would  furnish  all  we  ought  to  ask  ; 
Room  to  deny  ourselves  ;  a  road 
To  bring  us  daily  nearer  God." 

Those  words  "  daily  nearer  God  "  have  an  inexpressible  charm 
for  me;  I  long  for  such  nearness  to  Him  that  all  other  objects 
shall  fade  into  comparative  insignificance, — so  that  to  have  a 
thought,  a  wish,  a  pleasure  apart  from  Him  shall  be  impossible. 

Sej>^.  \2tJi. — At  Sabbath-school  this  morning,  while  talking 
with  my  scholars  about  the  Lord  Jesus,  my  heart,  which 
is  often  so  cold  and  so  stupid,  seemed  completely  melted 
within  me,  with  such  a  view  of  His  wonderful,  wonderful  love 
for  sinners,  that  I  almost  belived  I  had  never  felt  it  till  then. 
Such  a  blessing  is  worth  toiling  and  wrestling  for  a  whole  life. 
If  a  glimpse  of  our  Saviour  here  upon  earth  can  be  so  refresh- 
ing, so  delightful,  what  will  it  be  in  heaven  ! 

Sept.  i-]th. — I  have  been  reading  to-day  some  passages  from 
Nevins'  "  Practical  Thoughts."  '  Perhaps  you  have  seen  tliem  ; 
if  so,  do  you  remember  two  articles  headed,  ''  I  must  pray 
more,"  and  "1  must  pray  differently"?  They  interested  me 
much  because  in  some  measure  they  express  my  own  feelings. 
I  have  less  and  less  confidence  in  frames.,  as  they  are  called.  I 
am  glad  that  you  think  it  better  to  have  a  few  books  and  to 
read  them  over  and  over,  for  my  own  inclination  leads  me  to 
that.  One  gets  attached  to  them  as  to  Christian  friends.  D(j 
not  hesitate  to  direct  me  over  and  over  again,  to  go  with  dilti- 
culties  and  temptations  and  sin  to  the  Saviour.  I  love  to  l)e 
led  there  and  left  there.  Sometimes  when  the  exceeding  "  sin- 
fulness of  sin  "  becomes  painfully  apparent,  there  is  nothing; 
else  for  the  soul  to  do  but  to  lie  in  the  dust  before  God,  without 

'  An  excellent  little  work  by  Rev.  William  Nevins,  D.D.  Dr.  Nevins  was  pastor  o/ 
the  first  Presbyterian  Cluirch  in  Baltimore,  where  he  died  in  iSj5.  at  the  age  of  thirty 
Beven.     Me  was  one  of  the  best  preachers  and  most  popular  relij^ioas  wiitors  of  his  day. 


^6  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.   PRENTISS. 

a  word  of  excuse,  and  that  feeling  of  abasement  in  His  sight  is 

worth  more  than  all  the  pleasures  in  the  world You  will 

believe  me  if  I  own  myself  tired,  when  I  tell  you  that  I  made, 
fourteen  calls  this  afternoon.  But  even  the  unpleasant  busi- 
ness of  call-making  has  had  one  comfort.  Some  of  the  friends 
of  whom  I  took  leave,  spoke  so  tenderly  of  Him  whose  name  is 
so  precious  to  His  children  that  my  heart  warmed  towards 
them  instantly,  and  I  thought  it  worth  while  to  have  parting 
hDurs,  sad  though  they  may  be,  if  with  them  cam*,  so  naturally 
thoughts  of  the  Saviour.  Besides,  I  have  been  thinking  since 
I  came  home,  that  if  I  did  not  love  Him,  it  could  not  be  so  re- 
freshing to  hear  unexpectedly  of  Him I  did  not  know 

that  mother  had  anything  to  do  with  your  father's  conversion, 
and  when  I  mentioned  it  to  her  she  seemed  much  surprised 
and  said  she  did  not  know  it  herself.  Pray  tell  me  more  of  it, 
will  you  ?  I  have  felt  that  if,  in  the  course  of  my  life,  I  should 
be  the  means  of  leading  one  soul  to  the  Saviour,  it  would  be 
worth  staying  in  this  world  for  no  matter  how  many  years. 

Did  you  ever  read  Miss  Taylor's  "  Display  "  ?  Sister  says  the 
character  of  Emily  there  is  like  mine.  I  think  so  myself  save 
in  the  best  point. 

We  come  now  to  an  important  change  In  her  outward  life. 
She  had  accepted  an  invitation  to  become  a  teacher  in  Mr. 
Persico's  school  at  Richmond,  Virginia.  Mr.  Persico  was  an 
Italian,  a  brother  of  the  sculptor  of  that  name,  a  number  of 
whose  works  are  seen  at  Washington.  He  early  became  in- 
terested in  our  institutions,  and  as  soon  as  he  was  able,  came 
to  this  country  and  settled  in  Philadelphia  as  an  artist.  He 
married  a  lady  of  that  city,  and  afterward  on  account  of  her 
health  went  to  Richmond,  wdiere  he  opened  a  boarding  and  day 
school  for  girls.  There  were  four  separate  departments,  one 
of  which  was  under  the  sole  care  of  Miss  Payson.  Her  let- 
ters to  her  family,  written  at  this  time,  have  all  been  lost,  but 
\  full  record  of  the  larger  portion  of  her  Richmond  life  is 
preserved  in  letters  to  her  cousin,  Mr.  Shipman.  The  follow- 
ing extracts  from  these  letters  show  with  what  zeal  she  de- 
voted  herself  to  her  new  calling  and  how  absorbed  her  heart 
was  still  in  the  things  of  God.  They  also  throw  light  upon 
some  marked  features  of  her  character. 


THE   NEW    LIFE    IN   CHRIST.  37 

Boston,  Septemht  y  23. 
I  had,  after  leaving  home,  an  attack  of  that  terrible  pain,  of 
which  I  have  told  you,  and  believed  myself  very  near  death. 
Et  became  a  serious  question  whether,  if  God  should  so  plea?e| 
I  could  feel  willing  to  die  there  alone,  for  I  was  among  entire 
strangers.  I  never  enjoyed  more  of  His  presence  than  that 
night  when,  sick  and  sad  and  full  of  pain,  I  felt  it  sweet  to  put 
myself  in  His  hands  to  be  disposed  of  in  His  own  way. 

The  attack  referred  to  in  this  letter  resembled  angina  pec. 
toris,  a  disease  to  which  for  many  years  she  was  led  to  con- 
sider herself  liable.  Whatever  it  may  have  been,  its  effect 
was  excruciating.  -  Mother  was  telling  me  the  other  day," 
she  wrote  to  a  friend,  ''  that  in  her  long  life  she  had  never 
seen  an  individual  suffer  more  severe  bodily  pain  than  she 
had  often  tried  to  relieve  in  me.  I  remember  scores  of  such 
hours  of  real  agony."  In  the  present  instance  the  attack  was 
doubtless  brought  on,  in  part  at  least,  by  mental  agitation. 
''  No  words,"  she  wrote  a  few  months  later,  ''  can  describe  the 
anguish  of  my  mind  the  night  I  left  home ;  it  seemed  to  me 
that  all  the  agony  I  had  ever  passed  through  was  condensed 
into  a  small  space,  and  I  certainly  believe  that  I  should  die, 
if  left  to  a  higher  degree  of  such  pain." 

Richmond,  September  2,0,  1S40 
About  twelve  o'clock,  when  it  was  as  dark  as  pitch,  we  were 
all  ordered  to  prepare  for  a  short  walk.  In  single  file  then  out 
we  went.  It  seems  that  a  bridge  had  been  burned  lately,  and 
so  we  were  all  to  go  round  on  foot  to  another  train  of  cars. 
There  were  dozens  of  bright,  crackling  bonfires  lighted  at 
short  intervals  all  along,  and  as  we  wound  down  narrow,  steep 
and  rocky  pathways,  then  up  steps  which  had  been  rudely  cut 
out  in  the  side  of  the  elevated  ground,  and  as  far  as  we  could 
see  before  us  could  watch  the  long  line  of  moving  figures  in 
all  varieties  of  form  and  color,  my  spirits  rose  to  the  very  tip- 
top  of  enjoyment.  I  wished  you  could  have  a  picture  of  the 
whole  scene,  which,  though  one  of  real  life,  was  to  me  at  least 
exceedingly  beautiful.     We  reached  Richmond  at  one  o'clock 

Mr.  Persico  was  waiting  for  us  and  received  us  cordially 

iVhen  I  awoke  at  eight  o'clock,  I  felt  forlorn  enough.    Imagine, 


-S  TH!"    1  IKK    OK    MRS.    PRENTISS. 

if  you  can,  the  room  in  which  I  opened  my  eyes.  It  is  in  the 
attic,  is  very  low  and  has  two  windows.  My  first  thought  was 
"  t  never  can  be  happy  in  this  miserable  hole  ;  "  but  in  a  second 
this  wicked  feeling  took  flight,  and  I  reproached  myself  for 
my  ingratitude  to  Him  who  had  preserved  me  through  all  my 
joiirney,  had  made  much  of  it  so  delightful  and  profitable,  and 
who  still  promised  to  be  with  me. 

Oct.  2. I  will  try  to  give  you  some  account  of  our  doings,  al- 
though we  are  not  fully  settled.  We  have  risen  at  six  so  far,  but 
intend  to  be  up  by  five  if  we  can  wake.  As  soon  as  we  are 
dressed  I  take  my  Bible  out  into  the  entry,  where  is  a  window 
and  a  quiet  corner,  and  read  and  think  until  Louisa'  is  ready 
to  give  me  our  room  and  take  my  place.  At  nine  we  go  into 
school,  where  Miss  Lord '  reads  a  prayer,  and  from  that  hour 
until  twelve  we  are  engaged  with  our  respective  classes.  At 
twelve  we  have  a  recess  of  thirty  minutes.  This  over,  we  re- 
turn again  to  school,  where  we  stay  until  three,  when  we  are 
to  dine.  All  day  Saturday  we  are  free.  This  time  we  are  to 
have  Monday,  too,  as  a  special  holiday,  because  of  a  great  Whig 
convention  which  is  turning  the  city  upside-down.  There  is 
one  pleasant  thing,  pleasant  to  me  at  least,  of  which  I  want  to 
tell  you.  As  Mr.  Persico  is  not  a  religious  man,  I  supposed 
we  should  have  no  blessing  at  the  table,  and  was  afraid  I 
should  get  into  the  habit  of  failing  to  acknowledge  God  there. 
But  I  was  much  affected  when,  on  going  to  dine  the  first  day  I 
came,  he  stood  leaning  silently  and  reverentially  over  his  chair, 
as  if  to  allow  all  of  us  time  for  that  quiet  lifting  up  of  the 
heart  which  is  ever  acceptable  in  the  sight  of  God.  It  is  very 
impressive.  Miss  Lord  reads  prayers  at  night,  and  when  Mrs. 
Persico  comes  home  we  are  to  have  singing 

That  passage  in  the  119th  Psalm,  of  which  you  speak,  is 
indeed  delightful.  I  will  tell  you  what  were  some  of  my  medi- 
tations on  it.  I  thought  to  myself  that  if  God  continued  His 
fjithfulness  toward  me,  I  shall  have  afflictions  such  as  I  now 
know  nothing  more  of  than  the  name,  for  I  need  them  co/i- 
stantly.  I  have  trembled  ever  since  I  came  here  at  the  host  of 
now  dilficultics  to  which  I  am  exposed.  Surely  I  did  again 
and  again  ask  God  to  decide  the  question  for  me  as  to  whether 

'  Miss  Ann  Louisa  P.  Lord.  a  T^Iiss  Susan  Lord. 


THE    NEW    LIFE    IN    CHRIST.  35 

f  should  leave  home  or  not,  and  believed  that  He  had  chosen 
for  me.     It  certainly  was  against  my  own  inclinations 

Oct.  \2th. — This  morning  I  had  a  new  scholar,  a  pale,  thin 
little  girl  who  stammers,  and  when  I  spoke  to  her,  and  she  was 
obliged  to  answer,  the  color  spread  over  her  face  and  neck  as 
if  she  suffered  the  utmost  mortification.  I  was  glad  when  re- 
cess came,  to  draw  her  close  to  my  side  and  to  tell  her  that  I 
had  a  friend  afflicted  in  the  same  way,  and  that  consequently, 
I  should  know  how  to  understand  and  pity  her.  She  held  my 
hand  fast  in  hers  and  the  tears  came  stealing  down  one  after 
another,  as  she  leaned  confidingly  upon  my  shoulder,  and  I 
could  not  help  crying  too,  with  mingled  feelings  of  gratitude 
and  sorrow.     Certainly  it  will  be  delightful  to  soothe  and  to 

console  this  poor  little  thing You  do  not  like  poetry  and 

I  have  spent  the  best  part  of  my  life  in  reading  or  trying  to 
write  it.  N.  P.  Willis  told  me  some  years  ago,  that  if  my  hus- 
band had  a  soul,  he  would  love  me  for  the  poetical  in  m.e,  and 
advised  me  to  save  it  for  him. 

Oct.  2']fh. — Sometimes  when  I  feel  almost  sure  that  the  Sav- 
iour has  accepted  and  forgiven  me  and  that  I  belong  to  Hivi^  I 
can  only  walk  my  room  repeating  over  and  over  again,  Ho7V 
looiiderful !  And  then  when  my  mind  strives  to  take  in  this 
love  of  Christ,  it  seems  to  struggle  in  vain  with  its  own  little- 
ness and  falls  back  weary  and  exhausted,  to  wonder  again  at 

the  heights  and  depths  which  surpass  its  comprehension 

If  there  is  a  spark  of  love  in  my  heart  for  anybody,  it  is  for 
this  dear  brother  of  mine,  and  the  desire  to  have  his  education 
thorough  and  complete  has  grown  with  my  growth.  You, 
who  are  not  a  sister,  can  not  understand  the  feelings  with 
which  I  regard  him,  but  they  are  such  as  to  call  forth  unbound- 
ed love  and  gratitude  toward  those  who  show  kindness  to  him. 

Nov.  3^. — I  have  always  felt  a  peculiar  love  for  the  passage 
that  describes  the  walk  to  Emmaus.  I  have  tried  to  analyse 
the  feeling  of  pleasure  which  it  invariably  sheds  over  my  heart 
when  dwelling  upon  it,  especially  upon  the  words,  "Jesus  Him- 
self drew  near  and  went  with  them,"  and  these,  "  He  made  as 
though  He  would  go  further,"  but  yielded  to  their  urgent. 
"Abide  with  us."  .  .  This  is  one  of  the  comforts  of  the 
Christian  ;  God  understands  him  full}^  whether  he  can  explain 
his  troubles  or  not.     Sometimes  I  think  all  of  a  sudden  that  I 


40  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.   PRENTISS. 

do  not  love  the  Saviour  at  all,  and  am  ready  to  believe  hat  all 
my  pretended  anxiety  to  serve  Him  has  been  but  a  matter  ol 
feeling  and  not  of  principle  ;  but  of  late  I  have  been  less  dis- 
turbed by  this  imagination,  as  I  find  it  extends  to  earthly 
friends  who  are  dear  to  me  as  my  own  soul.  I  thought  once 
yesterday  that  I  didn't  love  anybody  in  the  world  and  was  per- 
fectly wretched  in  consequence. 

Nero.  12///.— The  more  I  try  to  understand  myself,  the  more 
I  am  puzzled.  That  I  am  a  mixture  of  contradictions  is  the 
opinion  I  have  long  had  of  myself.  I  call  it  a  compound  of 
sincerity  and  reserve.  Unless  you  see  just  what  I  mean  in  your 
own  consciousness,  I  doubt  whether  I  can  explain  it  in  words. 
With  me  it  is  both  an  open  and  a  shut  heart — open  when  and 
where  and  as  far  as  I  please,  and  shut  as  tight  as  a  vise  in  the 
same  way.  I  was  probably  born  with  this  same  mixture  of 
frankness    and    reserve,    having    inherited    the    one   from  my 

mother  and  the  other  from  my  father I  have  often  thought 

that,  humanly  speaking,  it  would  be  a  strange,  and  surely  a 
very  sad  thing  if  we  none  of  us  inherit  any  of  our  father's 
piety  ;  for  when  he  prayed  for  his  children  it  was,  undoubtedly, 
that  we  might  be  very  peculiarly  the  Lord's.  H.  was  to  be 
the  missionary;  but  if  he  can  not  go  himself,  and  is  prospered 
in 'business,  I  hope  he  will  be  able  to  help  send  others.  I  have 
been  frightened,  of  late,  in  thinking  how  little  good  I  am  doing 
in  the  world.  And  yet  I  believe  that  those  who  love  to  do 
good  always  find  opportunities  enough,  wherever  they  are. 
Whether  I  shall  do  any  here,  I  dare  not  try  to  guess. 

Dec.  T,d. — How  I  thank  you  for  the  interest  you  take  in  my 
Bible  class.  They  are  so  attentive  to  every  word  I  say  that  it 
makes  me  deeply  feel  the  importance  of  seeking  each  of  those 
words  from  the  Holy  Spirit.  Many  of  them  had  not  even  a 
Bible  of  their  own  until  now,  nor  were  they  in  the  habit  of 
reading  it  at  all.  Among  others  there  are  two  grand-daughters 
of  Patrick  Henry.  I  wish  I  could  give  you  a  picture  of  them, 
as  they  sit  on  Sabbath  evening  around  the  table  with  their 
eyes  fixed  so  eagerly  on  my  face,  that  if  I  did  not  feel  that  the 
Lord  Jesus  was  present,  I  should  be  overwhelmed  with  con- 
fusion at  my  unworthiness Mr.  Persico  is  a  queer  man. 

Last  Sabbath  Miss  L.  asked  him  if  he  had  been  to  church. 
"Qui,  Mile.,"  said  he;  '' vous  etiez  a  Teorlise  de  I'homme — 7noi 


THE   NEW   LIFE   IN   CHRIST.  4I 

j'etais  a  I'eglise  de  Dieu— dans  les  bois."  There  is  the  bell  for 
prayers  ;  it  is  an  hour  since  I  began  to  write,  but  I  have  spent 
a  great  part  of  it  with  my  eyes  shut  because  I  happened  to  feel 
more  like  meditating  than  writing,  if  you  know  what  sort  of  a 
feeling  that  is.  Oh,  that  \vq  might  be  enabled  to  go  onward 
day  by  day — and  2ipward  too. 

I  have  been  making  violent  efforts  for  years  to  become  meek 
and  lowly  in  heart.  At  present  I  do  hope  that  I  am  less  irrita- 
ble than  I  used  to  be.  It  was  no  small  comfort  to  me  when 
sister  was  home  last  summer,  to  learn  from  her  that  I  had  suc- 
ceeded somewhat  in  my  efforts.  But  though  I  have  not  often 
the  last  year  been  guilty  of  "  harsh  speeches,"  I  have  felt  my 
pride  tugging  with  all  its  might  to  kindle  a  great  fire  when 
some  unexpected  trial  has  caught  me  off  my  guard.  I  am  per- 
suaded that  real  meekness  dwells  deep  within  the  heart  and 
that  it  is  only  to  be  gained  by  communion  with  our  blessed 
Saviour,  who  when  He  was  reviled,  reviled  not  again. 

Sabbath  Evenim::;,  Wi. — I  wanted  to  write  last  evening  but 
had  a  worse  pain  in  my  side  and  left  arm  than  I  have  had  since 
I  came  here.  While  it  lasted,  which  was  an  hour  and  a  half,  I 
had  such  pleasant  thoughts  for  companions  as  would  make 
any  pain  endurable.  I  was  asking  myself  if,  supposing  God 
should  please  suddenly  to  take  me  away  in  the  midst  of  life, 
whether  I  should  feel  willing  and  glad  to  go,  and  oh,  it  did 
seem  delightful  to  think  of  it,  and  to  feel  sure  that,  sooner  or 
later,  the  summons  will  come.  Those  pieces  which  you  marked 
in  the  "  Observer"  I  have  read  and  like  them  exceedingly,  especi- 
ally those    about   growth    in    grace You   speak   of   the 

goodness  of  God  to  me  in  granting  me  so  much  of  His  pres- 
ence, while  I  am  here  away  from  all  earthly  friends.  Indeed  I 
want  to  be  able  to  praise  Him  as  I  never  yet  have  done,  and  I 
don't  know  where  to  begin.  I  have  felt  more  pain  in  this  sepa- 
ration from  home  on  mother's  account  than  any  other,  as  I  feel 
that  she  needs  me  at  home  to  comfort  and  to  love  her.  Since 
she  lost  her  best  earthly  friend  I  have  been  her  constant  com- 
panion. I  once  had  a  secret  desire  for  a  missionary  life,  if  God 
should  see  fit  to  prepare  me  for  it,  but  when  I  spoke  of  it  to 
mother  she  was  so  utterly  overcome  at  its  bare  mention  that  I 
instantly  promised  I  would  never  for  any  inducement  leave  or 
forsake  her.     I  want  you  to  pray  for  mc  that  if  poor  mother's 


^2  THE    LIFE   Ol'    MRS.    TRENTISS. 

right  hand  is  made  forever  useless/  I  may  after  this  year  oe  a 
right  hand  for  her,  and  be  enabled  to  make  up  somewhat  to 
h<:r  for  the  loss  of  it  by  affection  and  tenderness  and  sympathy. 
...  I  don't  remember  feeling  any  way  in  particular,  when  I 
first  began  to  "write  for  the  press,"  as  you  call  it.  I  never 
Ci.uld  realise  that  more  than  half  a  dozen  people  would  read 
my  pieces.  Besides,  I  have  no  desire  of  the  sort  you  express, 
Jor  fame.  1  care  a  great  deal  too  much  for  the  approbation  cf 
tliose  I  love  and  respect,  but  not  a  fig  for  that  of  those  I  don'' 
like  or  don't  know. 


II. 

Her  Character  as  a  Teacher.     Letters.     Incidents  of  School-Life.     Relig:ious  Struggles, 
Aims,  and  Hopes.     Oppressive  Heat  and  Weariness. 

Miss  Payson  had  been  in  Richmond  but  a  short  time 
before  she  became  greatly  endeared  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Persico, 
and  to  the  whole  school.  She  had  a  rare  natural  gift  for 
teaching.  Fond  of  study  herself,  she  knew  how  to  inspire 
her  pupils  with  the  same  feeling.  Her  method  was  excellent. 
It  aimed  not  merely  to  impart  knowledge  but  to  elicit  latent 
powers,  and  to  remove  difficulties  out  of  the  way.  While 
decided  and  thorough,  it  was  also  very  gentle,  helpful,  and 
sympathetic.  She  had  a  quick  perception  of  mental  diversi- 
ties, saw  as  by  intuition  the  weak  and  the  strong  points  of 
individual  character,  and  was  skillful  in  adapting  her  influence, 
as  well  as  her  instructions,  to  the  peculiarities  of  every  one 
under  her  care.  The  girls  in  her  own  special  department 
almost  idolised  her.  The  parents  also  of  some  of  them,  who 
belonged  to  Richmond  and  its  vicinity,  seeing  what  she  was 
doing  for  their  daughters,  sought  her  acquaintance  and  showed 
her  the  most  grateful  affection. 

Although  her  school  labors  were  exacting,  she  carried  on  a 
iargc  correspondence,  spent  a  good  deal  of  time  in  her  favor 
ite  religious  reading,  and  together  with  Miss  Susan  Lord,  the 

'  Referring  to  a  serious  accident,  by  which  her  mother  was  for  some  time  deprived  of 
ilie  use  of  her  right  hand. 


THK    NEW    TJKK    IN    CHRIST.  43 

senior  teacher  and  an  old  Portland  friend,  pursaed  a  course  oi 
study  in  French  and  Italian.  At  the  table  Mr.  Persico  spoke 
French,  and  in  this  way  she  was  enabled  to  perfect  herself  in 
the  practice  of  that  language.  Of  her  spiritual  history  and  of 
incidents  of  her  school  life  during  the  new  year,  some  extracts 
from  letters  to  her  cousin  will  give  her  own  account. 

Richmond,  January  3,  1S4T, 
If  I  tell  you  that  I  am  going  to  take  under  my  especial  care 
and  protection  one  of  the  family — a  little  girl  of  eleven  years 
whom  nobody  can  manage  at  all,  you  may  wonder  why.  I 
found  on  my  plate  at  dinner  a  note  from  Mrs.  Persico  saying 
that  if  I  wanted  an  opportunity  of  doing  good,  here  was  one , 
that  if  Nannie  could  sleep  in  my  room,  etc.,  it  might  be  of 
great  benefit  to  her.  The  only  reason  why  I  hesitated  was  the 
fear  that  she  might  be  in  the  way  of  our  best  hours.  But  1 
have  thought  all  along  that  I  was  living  too  much  at  my  ease, 
and  wanted  a  place  in  which  to  deny  myself  for  the  sake  of 
the  One  who  yielded  up  every  comfort  for  my  sake.  Nannie 
has  a  fine  character  but  has  been  mismanaged  at  home,  and 
since  coming  here.  She  often  comes  and  puts  her  arms  around 
me  and  says,  "There  is  ofie  in  this  house  who  loves  me,  I  do 
kfiow**  I  receive  her  as  a  trust  from  God,  with  earnest  prayer 
to  Him  that  we  may  be  enabled  to  be  of  use  to  her.  From 
morning  to  night  she  is  found  fault  with,  and  this  is  spoiling 

her  temper  and  teaching  her  to  be  deceitful I  have  been 

reading  lately  the  Memoir  of  Martyn.  I  have,  of  course,  read 
it  more  than  once  before,  but  everything  appears  to  me  now  in 
such  a  different  light.  I  rejoice  that  I  have  been  led  to  read 
the  book  just  now.  It  has  put  within  me  new  and  peculiar  de- 
sires to  live  wholly  for  the  glory  of  God. 

Jan.  i7,t/i. — I  understand  the  feeling  about  wishing  one's  self 
a  dog,  or  an  animal  without  a  soul.  I  have  sat  and  watched  a 
little  kitten  frisking  about  in  the  sunshine  till  I  could  hardly 
help  killing  it  in  my  envy — but  oh,  how  different  it  is  now  !  I 
have  felt  lately  that  perhaps  God  has  something  for  me  to  do 
in  the  world.  I  am  satisfied,  indeed,  that  in  calling  me  nearer 
to  Himself  He  has  intended  to  prepare  me  for  His  service. 
Where  that  is  to  be  is  no  concern  of  mine  as  yet.  I  only  wish 
to  belong  to  Him  and  wait  for  His  will,  whatever  it  may  be. 


'W 


TIIK    I.IFK   C)V   MRS.    PrEN'TISS. 


/an.  14///.— I  used  to  go  tlirougli  with  prayer  merely  as  i 
duty,  but  now  I  look  forward  to  the  regular  time  for  it,  and 
iKiil  op|)()rtunitics  for  special  seasons  with  such  delight  is  1 
once  knew  nothing  of.  Sometimes  my  heart  feels  ready  to 
break  for  the  longing  it  hath  for  a  nearer  appro:ich  to  the  Lord 
Jesus  than  I  can  obtain  without  the  use  of  words,  and  there  is 
not  a  corner  of  the  house  which  I  can  have  to  myself.  I  think 
sometimes  that  I  should  be  thankful  for  the  meanest  place  in 
flic  universe.  You  ask  if  I  ever  dream  of  seeing  the  Lord. 
N0--I  never  did,  neither  should  I  think  it  desirable  ;  but  a  few 
days  ago,  when  I  woke,  I  had  fresh  in  my  remembrance  some 
precious  words  which,  as  I  had  been  dreaming,  He  had  spoken 
to  me.  It  left  an  indescribable  feeling  of  love  and  peace  on 
my  mind.  I  seemed  in  my  dream  to  be  very  near  Him,  and 
th.at  He  was  encouraging  me  to  ask  of  Him  all  the  things  of 
which  I  felt  the  need. 

/(I//.  17///. — I  did  not  mean  to  write  so  much  about  myself, 
for  when  I  took  out  my  letter  I  was  thinking  of  things  and  be- 
ings far  above  this  world.  I  was  thinking  of  the  hour  when 
the  Christian  first  enters  into  the  joy  of  his  Lord,  when  the 
first  note  of  the  "  new  song  "  is  borne  to  his  ear,  and  the  first  view 
of  tlie  Lamb  of  God  is  granted  to  his  eye.  It  seems  to  me  as 
if  tlie  bliss  of  that  one  minute  would  fully  compensate  for  all 
the  toils  and  struggles  he  must  go  through  here  ;  and  then  to 
remember  the  ages  of  happiness  that  begin  at  that  point  I 
Oh,  if  the  unseen  presence  of  Jesus  can  make  the  heart  to  sing 
for  joy  in  the  midst  of  its  sorrow  and  sin  here,  what  will  it  be 
to  dwell  with  Him  forever! 

My  Piible  class,  which  consists  now  of  eighteen,  is  every  week 
more  dear  to  me.  I  am  glad  that  you  think  poor  Nannie  well 
off.  She  has  an  incpiiring  mind,  and  though  before  coming 
here  she  had  received  no  religious  instruction  and  had  not 
f\cn  a  nii)le,  she  is  now  constantly  asking  me  questions  which 
prove  In  r  to  be  a  first-rate  thinker  and  reasoner.  She  went  to 
ihc  theatre  last  night  and  came  home  quite  disgusted,  saying  to 
h  Tself,  '*  I  shouldn't  like  to  die  in  the  miist  of  such  gayeties 
ns  these."  She  urged  me  to  tell  her  if  I  thought  it  wrong  for 
her  to  go,  but  I  would  not,  because  I  did  not  want  her  to  stay 
away  for  my  sake.  I  want  her  to  settle  the  question  fairly  in 
h-r  own  mind  and  to  be  guided  by  her  own  conscience  rather 


THE    NEW    LIEE    IN    CHRIST.  41, 

than  mine.  She  is  so  grateful  and  happy  tliat,  if  the  sacrifice 
had  been  greater,  we  should  be  glad  that  we  had  made  it.  And 
then  if  we  can  do  her  any  good,  how  much  reason  we  shall 
have  to  thank  God  for  having  placed  her  here  ! 

Feb.  11th. — My  thoughts  of  serious  things  should,  perhaps. 
be  called  prayers,  rather  than  anything  else.  I  have  consta'U 
need  of  looking  up  to  God  for  help,  so  -utterly  weak  ai^d  igno- 
rant am  I  and  so  dependent  upon  Him.  Sometimes  in  my 
walks,  especially  those  of  the  early  morning,  I  take  a  verse 
from  the  "  Daily  Food  "  to  think  upon  ;  at  others,  if  my  mind 
is  where  I  want  it  should  be,  everything  seems  to  speak  and 
suggest  thoughts  of  my  Heavenly  Father,  and  when  it  is  other- 
wise I  feel  as  if  that  time  had  been  wasted.  This  is  not  "  keep- 
ing the  mind  on  the  stretch,"  and  is  delightfully  refreshing. 
All  I  wish  is  that  I  were  always  thus  favored.  As  to  a  hasty 
temper,  I  know  that  anybody  who  ever  lived  with  me,  until  with- 
in the  last  two  or  three  years,  could  tell  you  of  many  instances 
of  outbreaking  passion.  I  am  ashamed  to  say  how  recently 
the  last  real  tempest  occurred,  but  I  will  not  spare  myself.  It 
was  in  the  spring  of  1838,  and  I  did  not  eat  anything  for  so 
long  that  I  was  ill  in  bed  and  barely  escaped  a  fever.  Mother 
nursed  me  so  tenderly  that,  though  she  forgave  me,  I  never  shall 
forgive  myself.  Since  then  I  should  not  wish  you  to  suppose 
that  I  have  been  perfectly  amiable,  but  for  the  last  year  I  think 
I  have  been  enabled  in  a  measure  to  control  my  temper,  but  of 
that  you  know  more  than  I  do,  as  3^ou  had  a  fair  specimen  of  what 
I  am  when  with  us  last  summer.  It  has  often  been  a  source  of 
encouragement  to  me  that  everybody  said  I  was  gentle  and 
amiable  till  my  father's  death,  when  I  was  nine  years  old.  .  .  . 
While  reading  to-night  that  chapter  in  Mark,  where  it  speaks 
of  Jesus  as  walking  on  the  sea,  I  was  interested  in  thinking 
how  frequently  such  scenes  occur  in  our  spiritual  passage  over 
the  sea  which  is  finally  to  land  us  on  the  shores  of  the  home 
for  which  we  long.  "While  they  were  toiling  in  rowing,"  Jesus 
went  to  them  upon  the  water  and  "would  have  passed  by" 
till  He  heard  their  cries,  and  then  He  manifested  Himself  unto 
them  saying,  "//  is  /."  And  when  He  came  to  them,  the  wind 
ceased  and  they  "wondered."  Surely  we  have  often  found  in 
our  toiling  tliat  Jesus  was  passing  by  and  ready  at  the  first 
irembling   fear  to  speak  the  word   of  love  and  of  consolation 


^6  THE    LIFE    OF    MRS.    PRENTISS. 

and  to  give  us  the  needed  help,  and  then  to  leave  us  itm'Jering 
indeed  at  the  infinite  tenderness  and  kindness  so  unexpectedly 
vouchsafed  for  our  relief. 

Feb.  13M.— I  do  7iot  think  we  should  make  our  enjoyment  cl 
religion  the  greatest  end  of  our  struggle  against  sin.  I  never 
once  had  such  an  idea.  I  think  we  should  fight  against  sin 
simply  because  it  is  something  hateful  to  God,  because  it  is 
something  so  utterly  unlike  the  spirit  of  Christ,  whom  it  is  our 
privilege  to  strive  to  imitate  in  all  things.  On  all  points  con- 
nected with  the  love  I  wish  to  give  my  Saviour,  and  the  service 
I  am  to  render  Ilim,  I  feel  that  I  want  teaching  and  am  glad 
to  obtain  assistance  from  any  source.  I  hardly  know  how  to 
answer  your  question.  I  do  not  have  that  constant  sense  of 
the  Saviour's  presence  which  I  had  here  for  a  long  time,  neither 
do  I  feel  that  I  love  Him  as  I  thought  I  did,  but  it  is  not  always 
best  to  judge  of  ourselves  by  our  feelings,  but  by  the  general 
principle  and  guiding  desire  of  the  mind.  I  do  think  that  my 
prevailing  aim  is  to  do  the  will  of  God  and  to  glorify  Him  in 
everything.  Of  this  I  have  thought  a  great  deal  of  late.  I 
have  not  a  very  extensive  sphere  of  action,  but  I  want  my  con- 
duct, my  every  word  and  look  and  motion,  to  be  fully  under  the 
influence  of  this  desire  for  the  honor  of  God.  You  can  have 
no  idea  of  the  constant  observation  to  which  I  am  exposed 
here. 

Feb.  2isf. — I  spent  three  hours  this  afternoon  in  taking  care 
of  a  little  black  child  (belonging  to  the  house),  who  is  very  ill, 
and  as  I  am  not  much  used  to  such  things,  it  excited  and  wor- 
ried me  into  a  violent  nervous  headache.  I  finished  Brain- 
erd's  Life  this  afternoon,  amid  many  doubts  as  to  whether  I 
ever  loved  the  Lord  at  all,  so  different  is  my  piety  from  that  of 
this  blessed  and  holy  man.  The  book  has  been  a  favorite  with 
me  for  years,  but  I  never  felt  the  influence  of  his  life  as  I  have 
while  reading  it  of  late. 

She  alludes  repeatedly  in  her  correspondence  to  the  delight 
which  she  found  on  the  Sabbath  in  listening  to  that  eminent 
preacher  and  divine,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Wm.  S.  Plumer,  who  was 
then  settled  in  Richmond.  In  a  letter  to  her  cousin  she 
writes : 

I  have  become  much  attached  to  him  ;  he  seems  "nore  than 


THE   NEW    LIFE    IN   CHRIST. 


47 


half  in  heaven,  and  every  word  is  lull  of  solemnity  and  feeling, 
as  if  he  had  just  held  near  intercourse  with  God.  I  wish  that 
you  could  have  listened  with  me  to  his  sermons  to-day.  They 
have  been,  I  think,  blessed  messages  from  God  to  my  soul. 

All  her  letters  at  this  time  glow  with  religious  fervor.  "  How 
wonderful  is  our  divine  Master!"  she  seemed  to  be  always 
saying  to  herself.  '^  It  has  become  so  delightful  to  me  to  speak 
of  His  love,  of  His  holiness,  of  His  purity,  that  when  I  try  to 
write  to  those  who  know  Him  not,  I  hardly  know  what  is 
vv^orthy  of  even  a  mention,  if  He  is  to  be  forgotten."  And 
several  years  afterwards  she  refers  to  this  period  as  a  time 
when  she  '*  shrank  from  everything  that  in  the  slightest  degree 
interrupted  her  consciousness  of  God." 

The  following  letter  to  a  friend,  whose  name  will  often  re- 
cur in  these  pages,  well  illustrates  her  state  of  mind  during  the 
entire  winter.  , 

Your  very  welcome  letter,  my  dear  Anna,  arrived  this  after- 
noon,  and,  as  my  labors  for  the  week  are  over,  I  am  glad 

Anna  s.  of  a  quiet  hour  in  which  to  thank  you  for  it.  I  do  not 
Richmo)id,  thank  you  simply  because  you  have  so  soon  answered 

Feb^  26,  j^y  letter,  but  because  you  have  told  me  what  no  one  else 
could  do  so  well  about  your  own  very  dear  self.  When  I 
wrote  you  I  doubted  very  much  whether  I  might  even  allude  to 
the  subject  of  religion,  although  I  wished  to  do  so,  since  that  al- 
most exclusively  has  occupied  my  mind  during  the  last  year.  I 
saw  you  in  the  midst  of  temptations  to  which  I  have  ever  been 
a  stranger,  but  which  I  conceived  to  be  decidedly  unfavorable  to 
growth  in  any  of  the  graces  which  make  up  Christian  character. 
It  was  not  w^ithout  hesitation  that  I  ventured  to  yield  to  the 
promptings  of  my  heart,  and  to  refer  to  the  only  things  wliich 
have  at  present  much  interest  for  it.  I  can  not  tell  you  how  I  do 
rejoice  that  you  have  been  led  to  come  out  thus  upon  the  Lord's 
side,  and  to  consecrate  yourself  to  His  service.  My  own  views 
and  feelings  have  within  the  last  year  undergone  such  an  en- 
tire change,  that  I  have  wished  I  could  take  now  some  such 
Stand  in  the  presence  of  all  who  have  known  me  in  days  past, 
as  this  which  you  have  taken.  My  first  and  only  wish  is  hence- 
forth  to  live  but  for  Him,  who  has  graciously  drawn  my  wan- 


48  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS 

derinrr  affections  to  Himself You  speak  of  the  faintness 

of  your  heart — but  "  they  who  wait  upon  the  Lord  shall  renew 
their  strength,"  and  I  do  believe  the  truth  of  these  precious 
words;  not  only  because  they  are  those  of  God,  but  also  be 
cause  my  own  experience  adds  happy  witness  to  them.  I  have 
lived  many  years  with  only  just  enough  of  hope  to  keep  me 
fn)m  actual  despair.  The  least  breath  was  sufficient  to  scatter 
it  all  and  to  leave  me,  fearful  and  afraid,  to  go  over  and  over 
again  the  same  ground  ;  thus  allowing  neither  time  nor 
strength  for  progress  in  the  Christian  course.  I  trust  that  you 
will  not  go  through  years  of  such  unnecessary  darkness  and 
despondency.  There  is  certainly  enough  in  our  Saviour,  if  we 
only  open  our  eyes  that  we  may  see  it,  to  solve  every  doubt  and 
satisfy  every  longing  of  the  heart;  and  He  is  willing  to  give  it 
in  full  measure.  When  I  contemplate  the  character  of  the  Lord 
Jesus,  I  am  filled  with  wonder  which  I  can  not  express,  and 
with  unutterable  desires  to  yield  myself  and  my  all  to  His 
hand,  to  be  dealt  with  in  His  own  way  ;  and  His  way  is  a 
blessed  one,  so  that  it  is  delightful  to  resign  body  and  soul 
and  spirit  to  Him,  without  a  will  opposed  to  His,  without  a 
care  but  to  love  Him  more,  without  a  sorrow  which  His  love 
can  not  sanctify  or  remove.  In  following  after  Him  faithfully 
and  steadfastly,  the  feeblest  hopes  may  be  strengthened;  and 
I  trust  that  you  will  find  in  your  own  happy  experience  that 
"joy  and  peace"  go  hand  in  hand  with  love — so  that  in  pro- 
portion to  your  devotion  to  the  Saviour  will  be  the  blessedness 
of  your  life.  When  I  begin  I  hardly  know  where  to  stop,  and 
now  I  find  myself  almost  at  the  end  of  my  sheet  before  I  have 
begun  to  say  what  I  wish.  This  will  only  assure  you  that  I 
love  you  a  thousand  times  better  than  I  did  when  I  did  not 
know  that  your  heart  was  filled  with  hopes  and  affections  like 
my  own,  and  that  I  earnestly  desire,  if  Providence  permits  us 
to  enjoy  intercourse  in  this  or  in  any  other  way,  we  may  never 
lose  sight  of  the  una  great  truth  that  we  are  ml  our  mv/i.  I 
pi  ay  you  sonietimes  remember  me  at  the  throne  of  grace. 
The  more  I  see  of  the  Saviour,  tiie  more  I  feel  my  own  weak- 
ness and  helplessness  and  my  need  of  His  constant  presence, 
and   I  can   not  help  asking  assistance  from  all  those  who  love 

^^in"* ^^'^  how  sorry  I  am   that  I  have  come  to  the  end  ! 

\  wish    I    luid  any  faculty  for    expressing    affection,  so  that   I 


THE   NEW    LIFE    IN   CHRIST.  49 

might  tell  you  how  much   I   love   and   hew   often   I    think   of 
you.  ., 

Her  cousin  having  gone  abroad,  a  break  in  the  correspond^ 
ence  with  him  occurred  about  this  time  and  continued  for  sev- 
eral  months.  In  a  letter  to  her  friend,  Miss  Thurston,  dated 
April  2ist,  she  thus  refers  to  her  school: 

There  are  six  of  us  teachers,  five  of  them  born  in  Maine — 
which  is  rather  funny,  as  that  is  considered  by  most  of  the 
folks  here  as  the  place  where  the  world  comes  to  an  end.  Al- 
though the  South  lifts  up  its  wings  and  crows  over  the  Nortli, 
it  is  glad  enough  to  get  its  teachers  there,  and  ministers  too, 
and  treats  them  very  well  when  it  gets  them,  into  the  bargain. 
We  have  in  the  school  about  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  pu- 
pils of  all  ages.  I  never  knew  till  I  came  here  the  influence 
which  early  religious  education  exerts  upon  the  whole  future 
age.  There  is  such  a  wonderful  difference  between  most  of 
these  young  people  and  those  in  the  North,  that  you  might  al- 
most believe  them  another  race  of  beings.  Mrs.  Persico  is 
beautiful,  intelligent,  interesting,  and  pious.  Mr.  Persico  is 
just  as  much  like  John  Neal  as  difference  of  education  and  of 
circumstances  can  permit.  Mr.  N.'s  strong  sense  of  justice,  his 
enthusiasm,  his  fun  and  wit,  his  independence  and  self-esteem, 
his  tastes,  too,  as  far  as  I  know  them,  all  exist  in  like  degree  in 
Mr.  Persico. 

The  early  spring,  with  its  profusion  of  flowers  of  every  hue, 
so  far  in  advance  of  the  spring  in  her  native  State,  gave  her 
the  utmost  pleasure ;  but  as  the  summer  approached,  her 
health  began  to  suffer.  The  heat  was  very  intense,  and  hot 
weather  always  affected  her  unhappily.  *'  I  feel,"  she  wrote, 
"as  if  I  were  in  an  oven  with  hot  melted  lead  poured  over  my 
brain."  Her  old  trouble,  too — ''  organic  disease  of  the  heart  " 
it  was  now  suspected  to  be — caused  her  much  discomfort. 
"  While  writing,"  she  says  in  one  of  her  letters,  "  I  am  suffer- 
ing excruciating  pain ;  I  can't  call  it  anything  else."  Her 
physical  condition  naturally  affected  more  or  less  her  religious 
feelings.  Under  date  of  July  12th,  she  writes: 
4 


-O  THE    I.IM".    <>1'    MKS.    PIIENTISS. 

The  word  cofijlict  expresses  better  than  any  other  my  general 
state  from  day  to  day.  I  have  seemed  of  late  like  a  straw 
tloating  ui)on  the  surface  of  a  great  ocean,  blown  hither  and 
thither  by  every  wind,  and  tossed  from  wave  to  wave  without 
the  rest  of  a  moment.  It  was  a  mistake  of  mine  to  imagine 
that  God  ever  intended  man  to  rest  in  this  world.     I  see  that 

it    is    riglit    and  wise   in   Him   to   appoint  it   otherwise 

While  s'^iffering  from  my  Saviour's  absence,  nothing  interests 
me.  But  I  was  somewhat  encouraged  by  reading  in  my  fa- 
ther's memoir,  and  in  reflecting  that  he  passed  through  far 
greater  spiritual  conflicts  than  will  probably  ever  be  mine. 
....  I  see  now  that  it  is  not  air.  ays  best  for  us  to  have  the 
light  of  God's  countenance.  Do  not  spend  your  time  and 
strength  in  asking  for  me  that  blessing,  but  this— that  I  may 
be  transformed  into  the  image  of  Ciirist  in  His  own  time,  in 
His  own  way. 

Early  in  August  she  left  Richmond  and  flew  homeward  like 
a  bird  to  its  nest. 


HI. 

Extracts  from  her  Richmond  Journal. 

Were  her  letters  to  her  cousin  the  only  record  of  Miss 
Payson's  Richmond  life,  one  might  infer  that  they  give  a  com- 
plete picture  of  it ;  for  they  were  written  in  the  freedom  and 
confidence  of  Christian  friendship,  with  no  thought  that  a 
third  eye  would  ever  see  them.  But  it  had  another  and  hid- 
di'u  side,  of  which  her  letters  contain  only  a  partial  record. 
Her  early  habit  of  keeping  a  journal  has  been  already  referred 
to.  Slic  kept  one  at  Richmond,  and  was  prevented  several 
years  later  from  destroying  it,  as  she  had  destroyed  others,  by 
the  entreaty  of  the  only  person  who  ever  saw  it.  This  jour- 
nal depicts  many  of  her  most  secret  thoughts  and  feelings 
both  earthward  and  hea\enward.  Some  passages  in  it  are  of 
too  personal   a  nature   for  Dublication,  but  the  following  ex- 


THE   NEW   LIFE   IN   CHRIST. 


5 


tracts  seem  fairly  entitled  to  a  place  here,  as  they  bring  out 
several  features  of  her  character  with  sunlike  clearness,  and  so 
will  help  to  a  better  understanding  of  the  ensuing  narrative  • 

Richmond,  October  2,  1840. 

How  funny  it  seems  here  !  Everything  is  so  different  from 
home  !  I  foresee  that  I  shan't  live  nearly  a  year  under  these 
new  influences  without  changing  my  old  self  into  something 
else.  Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  grow  old  because  people 
treat  me  as  if  I  were  grown  up  !  I  hate  old  young  folks.  Well  ! 
whoever  should  see  me  and  my  scholars  would  be  at  a  loss  to 
know  wherein  consists  the  difference  between  them  and  me,  I 
am  only  a  little  girl  after  all,  and  yet  folks  do  treat  me  as  if  I 
were  as  old  and  as  wise  as  Methusaleh.  And  Mr.  Persico  says, 
"  Oui,  Madame."  Oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  It  makes  me  feel  so  ashamed 
when  these  tall  girls,  these  damsels  whose  hearts  are  developed 
as  mine  won't  be  these  half  dozen  years  (to  say  nothing  of 
their  minds),  ask  me  if  they  may  go  to  bed,  if  they  may  walk, 
if  they  may  go  to  Mr.  So-and-so's,  and  Miss  Such-a-one's  to 
buy — a  stick  of  candy  for  aught  I  know.  Oh,  oh,  oh  !  I  shall 
have  to  take  airs  upon  myself.  I  shall  have  to  leave  off  little 
words  and  use  big  ones.  I  shall  have  to  leave  off  sitting  curled 
up  on  my  feet,  turkey-fashion.  I  shall  have  to  make  wise 
speeches  (But  a  word  in  your  ear,  Miss  —  I  wont). 

Oct.  27///. — This  Richmond  is  a  queer  sort  of  a  place  and  I 
should  be  as  miserable  in  it  as  a  fish  out  of  water,  only  there 
is  sunshine  enough  in  my  heart  to  make  any  old  hole  bright. 
In  the  first  place,  this  dowdy  chamber  is  in  one  view  a  perfect 
den — no  carpet,  whitewashed  walls,  loose  windows  that  have 
the  shaking  palsy,  fire-red  hearth,  blue  paint  instead  of  white, 
or  rather  a  suspicion  that  there  was  once  some  blue  paint  here. 
But  what  do  I  care  ?  I'm  as  merry  as  a  grig  from  morning  till 
night.  The  little  witches  down-stairs  love  me  dearly,  every- 
body is  kind,  and — and — and — when  everybody  is  locked  out 
and  I  am  locked  into  this  same  room,  this  low  attic,  there's  not 
a  king  on  the  earth  so  rich,  so  happy  as  I  !  Here  is  my  little 
pet  desk,  here  are  my  books,  my  papers.  I  can  write  and  read 
and  study  and  moralise,  I  don't  pretend  to  say  ///////.'— and  then 
besides,  every  morning  and  every  night,  within  these  four 
walls,  heaven   itself  refuses  not  to  enter  in  and  dwell— and  I 


52  THE    I. IFF.   OF   MI^S.    PRENTISS. 

may  grow  bettor  and  better  and  happier  and  happier  in  bless 
edness  with  which  nothing  may  intermeddle. 

Mr.  Persico  is  a  man  by  himself,  and  quite  interes  ing  to  mo 
in  one  way,  that  is,  in  giving  me  something  to  puzzle  out.  I 
like  him  for  his  exquisite  taste  in  the  picture  line  and  for  hav- 
ing adorned  his  rooms  with  such  fine  ones — at  least  they're 
fine  to  my  inexperienced  eye  ;  for  when  I'm  in  the  mood,  I  can 
go  and  sit  and  dream  as  it  seemeth  me  good  over  them,  and  as 
I  dream,  won't  good  thoughts  come  into  my  heart  ?  As  to  Mrs. 
P.,  I  hereby  return  my  thanks  to  Nature  for  making  her  so 
beautiful.    She  has  a  face  and  figure  to  fall  in  love  with.    K.  has 

also  a  fine  face  and  a  delicate  little  figure.    Miss 1  shall  avoid 

as  far  as  I  can  do  so.  I  do  not  think  her  opinions  and  feelings 
would  do  me  any  good.  She  has  a  fine  mind  and  likes  to  cul- 
tivate it,  and  for  that  I  respect  her,  but  she  has  nothing  natu- 
ral and  girlish  in  her,  and  I  am  persuaded,  never  had.  She 
liates  little  children  ;  says  she  hates  to  hear  them  laugh,  thinks 
them  little  fools.  Why,  how  odd  all  this  is  to  me  !  I  could  as 
soon  hate  the  angels  in  heaven  and  hate  to  hear  them  sing. 
That,  to  be  sure,  is  my  way,  and  the  other  way  is  hers — but 
somehow  it  doesn't  seem  good-hearted  to  be  so  very,  very  su- 
perior to  children  as  to  shun  the  little  loving  beautiful  crea- 
tures.    I  don't  believe  I  ever  s/ia//  grow  up  !     But,  Miss ,  I 

don't  want  to  do  you  injustice,  and  Pm  much  obliged  to  you 
for  all  the  flattering  things  you've  said  about  me,  and  if  you 
like  my  eyes  and  think  there  is  congeniality  of  feeling  betw^een 
us,  why,  I  thank  you.  But  oh,  don't  teach  me  that  the  wisdom 
of  the  world  consisteth  in  forswearing  the  simple  beauties  with 
which  life  is  full.  Don't  make  me  fear  my  own  happy  girlhood 
by  talking  to  me  about  love — oh,  don't  ! 

Dtr.  I.— I  wonder  if  all  the  girls  in  the  world  are  just  alike  ? 
Seems   to   me   they  might   be  so   sweet   and   lovable   if  they'd 

leave  off    chattering   forever   and   ever  about   lovers If 

mothers  would  keep  their  little  unfledged  birds  under  iheir 
own  wings,  wouldn't  they  make  better  mother-birds?  Now 
some  girls  down-stairs,  who  ought  to  be  thinking  about  all  the 
beautiful  things  in  life  but  just  lovers,  are  reading  novels,  love 
stories  and  poetry,  till  they  can't  care  for  anything  else.  .  .  . 
Now,  Lizzy  Payson,  where's  the  use  of  fretting  so  ?  Go  right 
to  work   reading  Leighton  and  you'll  forget  that  all  the  world 


THE   NEW    LIFE    IX    ClIRISl.  53 

isn't  as  wise  as  you  think  you  are,  you  little  vain  thing,  you  ! 
Alas  and  alas,  but  this  is  such  a  nice  world,  and  the  girls  don't 
know  it ! 

Dec.  2. — What  a  pleasant  walk  I  had  this  rnorning  on  Ambler's 
tlill.  The  sun  rose  while  I  was  there  and  I  was  so  happy  ' 
The  little  valley,  clothed  with  white  houses  and  completely  en- 
circled by  hills,  reminded  me  of  the  verse  about  the  mountains 
round  about  Jerusalem.  Nobody  was  awake  so  early  and  I 
had  all  the  great  hill  to  myself,  and  it  was  so  beautiful  that  1 
could  have  thrown  myself  down  and  kissed  the  earth  itself. 
Oh,  sweet  and  good  and  loving  Mother  Nature  !  I  choose  you 
for  my  own.  I  will  be  your  little  lady-love.  I  will  hunt  you 
out  whenever  you  hide,  and  you  shall  comfort  me  when  I  am 
sad,  and  laugh  with  me  when  I'm  merry,  and  take  me  by  the 
hand  and  lead  me  onward  and  upward  till  the  image  of  tlie 
heavenly  forceth  out  that  of  the  earthly  from  my  whole  heart 
cind  soul.  Oh,  how  I  prayed  for  a  holy  heart  on  that  hillside  and 
liow  sure  I  am  that  I  shall  grow  better  !  and  what  companion 
able  thoughts  I've  had  all  day  for  that  blessed  walk  ! 

2)th. — My  life  is  a  nice  little  life  just  now,  as  regular  as  clock 
work.  We  walk  and  we  keep  school,  and  our  scholars  kiss  and 
love  us,  and  we  kiss  and  love  them,  and  we  read  Lamartine  and 
I  worship  Leighton,  good,  wise,  holy  Leighton,  and  we  discourse 
about  everything  together  and  dispute  and  argue  and  argue 
and  dispute,  and  I'm  quite  happy,  so  I  am  !  As  to  Lamartine, 
he's  no  great  things,  as  I  know  of,  but  I  want  to  keep  up  my 
knowledge  of  French  and  so  we  read  twenty  pages  a  day.  And 
as  to  our  discourses,  r^y  fidgety,  moralising  sort  of  mind  wants 
to  compare  its  doctrines  with  those  of  other  people,  though 
it's  as  stiff  as  a  poker  in  its  own  opinions.  You're  a  very  con 
sistent  little  girl  !  you  call  yourself  a  child,  are  afraid  to  ojxm. 
your  mouth  before  folks,  and  yet  you're  as  obstinate  and  proud 
as  a  little  man,  daring  to  think  for  yourself  and  act  accord- 
ingly at  the  risk  of  being  called  odd  and  incomprcliensible.  1 
don't  care,  though  !  Run  on  and  break  your  neck  if  you  will. 
Vou're  nothing  especial  after  all. 

9///. — To-night,  in  unrolling  a  bundle  of  v/ork  I  found  a  little 
note  therein  from  mother.  Whew,  how  I  kissed  it  !  I  thought 
I  should  fly  out  of  my  senses,  I  was  so  glad.  But  I  can't  Hy 
now-a-days,  I'm  growing  so  unetherial.     Whv,  I  take   up  a  lot 


54  THE   I!FK   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

of  loom  in  the  world  and  my  frocks  won't  hold  me.  That's 
because  my  heart  is  so  quiet,  lying  as  still  as  a  mouse,  after  all 
its  tossings  about  and  trying  to  be  happy  in  the  things  of  this 
life.  Oh,  I  am  so  happy  now  in  the  other  life  !  But  as  for  tell- 
ing other  people  so— as  for  talking  religion — I  don't  see  how  I 
can.  It  doesn't  come  natural.  Is  it  because  I  am  proud  ?  But 
I  pray  to  be  so  holy,  so  truly  a  Christian,  that  my  life  shall 
speak  and  gently  persuade  all  who  see  me  to  look  for  the  hid- 
den spring  of  my  perpetual  happiness  and  quietness.  The  only- 
question  is  :  Do  I  live  so?  I'm  afraid  I  make  religion  seem  too 
grave  a  thing  to  my  watching  maidens  down-stairs  ;  but,  oh, 
I'm  afraid  to  rush  into  their  pleasures. 

25///. —  ....  I've  been  "our  Lizzy  "  all  my  life  and  have  not 
had  to  display  my  own  private  feelings  and  opinions  before 
folks,  but  have  sat  still  and  listened  and  mused  and  lived  with- 
in myself,  and  shut  myself  up  in  my  corner  of  the  house  and 
speculated  on  life  and  the  things  thereof  till  I've  got  a  set  of 
notions  of  my  own  which  Aovit  fit  into  the  notions  of  anybody 
I  know.  I  don't  open  myself  to  anybody  on  earth  ;  I  can  not ; 
there  is  a  world  of  something  in  me  which  is  not  known  to 
those  about  me  and  perhaps  never  will  be  ;  but  sometimes  I 
think  it  would  be  delicious  to  love  a  mind  like  mine  in  some 
things,  only  better,  wiser,  nobler.  I  do  not  quite  understand 
life.  People  don't  live  as  they  were  made  to  live,  I'm  sure.  .  . 
.  .  I  want  soul.  I  want  the  gracious,  glad  spirit  that  finds  the 
good  and  the  beautiful  in  everything,  joined  to  the  manly,  ex- 
alted intellect — rare  unions,  I  am  sure,  yet  possible  ones.  Lit- 
tle girl  !  Do  you  suppose  such  a  soul  would  find  anything  in 
yours  to  satisfy  it  ?  No — no — no — I  do  not.  I  know  I  am  a  poor 
little  goose  which  ought  to  be  content  with  some  equally  poor 
little  gander,  but  I  ivont.  I'll  never  give  up  one  inch  of  the.se 
tlic  demands  of  my  reason  and  of  my  heart  for  all  the  truths 
you  tell  iiKr  about  myself — never  !  But  descend  from  your  ele- 
vation, oh  speculating  child  of  mortality,  and  go  down  to 
school.  Oil,  no,  no  school  for  a  week,  and  I  guess  I'll  spend 
the  week  in  fancies  and  follies.  It  won't  hurt  me.  I've  done  it 
before  and  got  back  to  the  world  as  satisfied  as  ever,  indeed  1 
have. 

Jan.  I,  1 84 1. —We've  been  busy  all  the  week  getting  our  pres- 
ents ready  for  the  servants,  and  a  nice  time  I've  had  this  morning 


THE   NEW   LIFE    IN   CHRIST.  55 

seeing  them  show  their  ivory  thereat.  James  made  a  little 
speech,  the  amount  of  which  was,  he  hoped  I  wouldn't  get  mar- 
ried till  I'd  "done  been"  here  two  or  three  years,  because  my 
face  was  so  pleasant  it  was  good  to  look  at  it  !  I  was  as  proud 
as  Lucifer  at  this  compliment,  and  shall  certainly  look  pleasant 
all  day  to-day,  if  I  never  did  before.  Monsieur  and  the  j-est 
wished  me,  I  won't  say  how  many,  good  wishes,  rushing  at  me 
as  I  went  in  to  breakfast— and  Milly  privately  informed  Lucy  that 
she  liked  Miss  Payson  "  a  heap  "  better  than  she  did  any  body 
else,  and  then  came  and  begged  me  to  buy  her  !  I  buy  her  ! 
Heaven  bless  the  poor  little  girl.  I  had  some  presents  and  af- 
fectionate notes  from  different  members  of  the  family  and  from 
my  scholars — also  letters  from  sister  and  Ned,  which  delighted 
me  infinitely  more  than  I'm  going  to  tell  jw/,  old  journal.  Took 
tea  at  Mr.  P.'s  and  Mrs.  P.  laughed  at  her  husband  because  he 
had  once  an  idea  of  going  to  New  England  to  get  my  little 
ladyship  to  wife  (for  the  sake  of  my  father,  of  course).  Mr.  P. 
blushed  like  a  boy  and  fidgeted  terribly,  but  I  didn't  care  a 
snap — I  am  not  old  enough  to  be  wife  to  anybody,  and  I'm  not 
going  to  mind  if  people  do  joke  with  me  about  it.  I've  had 
better  things  to  think  of  on  this  New  Year's  day — good,  heaven; 
ward  thoughts  and  prayers  and  hopes,  and  if  I  do  not  become 
more  and  more  transformed  into  the  Divine,  then  are  prayers 
and  hopes  things  of  nought.  Oh,  how  dissatisfied  I  am  with 
myself.  How  I  long  to  be  like  unto  Him  into  whose  image  I 
shall  one  day  be  changed  when  I  see  Him  as  He  is  ! 

I  believe  nobody  understands  me  on  religious  points,  for  I  can 
not,  and,  it  seems  to  me,  need  not  parade  my  private  feelings  be- 
fore the  world.  Cousin  G.,  God  bless  him  !  knows  enough,  and 
yet  my  letters  to  him  do  not  tell  the  hundredth  part  of  tliat 
which  these  four  walls  might  tell,  if  they  would.  I  do  not  know 
that  I  am  not  wrong,  but  I  do  dislike  the  present  style  of  talking 
on  religious  subjects.  Let  people  pray — earnestly,  fervently, 
not  simply  morning  and  night,  but  the  whole  day  long^  making 
their  lives  one  continued  prayer  ;  but,  oh,  don't  let  them  tell 
others  of,  or  let  others  know  half  how  much  of  communion 
with  Heaven  is  known  to  their  own  hearts.  Is  it  not  true  tluit 
those  who  talk  most,  go  most  to  meetings,  run  hither  and 
thither  to  all  sorts  of  societies  and  all  sorts  of  readings — is  il 
not   true   that  such  people  would  not  find   peace  and  content 


56  THE    LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

mcnt— yes,  blessedness  of  blessedness— in  solitary  hours  when 
to  the  Searcher  of  hearts  alone  are  known  their  aspirations  and 
their  love  ?  I  do  not  know,  I  am  puzzled  ;  but  I  may  say  here, 
where  nobody  will  ever  see  it,  what  I  do  think,  and  I  say  it  to 
my  own  heart  as  well  as  over  the  hearts  of  others— there  is  not 
enough  of  real,  true  communion  with  God,  not  enough  near- 
ness to  Him,  not  enough  heart-searching  before  Him  ;  and  too 
much  parade  and  bustle  and  noise  in  doing  His  work  on  earth. 
Oh,  I  do  not  know  exactly  what  I  mean— but  since  I  have  heard 
so  many  apparently  Christian  people  ow^n  that  of  this  sense  of 
nearness  to  God  they  know  absolutely  nothing— that  they  pray 
because  it  is  their  habit  without  the  least  expectation  of  meet- 
ing the  great  yet  loving  Father  in  their  closets— since  I  have 
heard  this  I  am  troubled  and  perplexed.  Why,  is  it  not  indeed 
true  that  the  Christian  believer,  God's  own  adopted,  chosen, 
beloved  child,  may  speak  face  to  face  with  his  Father,  humbly, 
reverently,  yet  as  a  man  talketh  with  his  friend  ?  Is  it  not  true  ? 
Do  not  I  know  that  it  is  so  ?  Oh,  I  sometimes  want  the  wisdom 
of  an  angel  that  I  may  not  be  thus  disturbed  and  wearied. 

1 4///._Now  either  Miss  's  religion  is  wrong  and  mine 

rJglit,  or  else  it's  just  the  other  way.  I  wrote  some  verses, 
funny  ones,  and  sent  her  to-day,  and  she  returned  for  answer 
that  verse  in  Proverbs  about  vinegar  on  nitre,  and  seemed  dis- 
tressed that  I  ever  had  such  worldly  and  funny  thoughts.  I 
told  her  I  should  like  her  better  if  she  ever  had  any  but  solemn 
ones,  whence  we  rushed  into  a  discussion  about  proprieties  and 
I  maintained  that  a  mind  was  not  in  a  state  of  religious  health, 
it'  it  could  not  safely  indulge  in  thoughts  funny  as  funny  could 
be.  Siie  shook  her  head  and  looked  as  glum  as  she  could,  and 
I'm  really  sorry  that  I  vexed  her  righteous  soul,  though  I'm 
sure  I  feel  funny  ever  so  much  of  the  time,  can  not  help  saying 
funny  things  and  cutting  up  capers  now  and  then.  I'll  take 
care  not  to  marry  a  glum  man,  anyhow;  not  that  I  want  my 
future  lord  and  master  to  be  a  teller  of  stories,  a  wit,  or  a  par- 
ticularly funny  man — but  he  shan't  wear  a  long  face  and  make 
nie  wear  a  long  one,  though  he  may  be  as  pious  as  the  day  is 
long  and  viust  be,  what's  more.     Oh,  my  !     I  don't  think  I  was 

so  very  naughty.     I  saw  Miss laughing  privately  at  these 

same  verses,  and  she  rushed  in  to  Mrs.  P.  and  read  them  to  her 
tnd  then  copied  them   for  her  aunt  and  paid  twenty-five  cents 


THE   NEW    LIFE    IN   CHRIST.  57 

postage  on  the  letter.  I  should  like  to  know  how  she  dared 
waste  so  much  time  in  unholy  employments  !  As  I  was  saying, 
and  am  always  thinking,  it's  rather  queer  that  people  are  so 
oddly  different  in  their  ideas  of  religion.  Heaven  forbid  I 
should  trifle  with  serious  and  holy  thoughts  of  my  head  and 
heart— but  if  my  religion  is  worth  a  straw,  such  verse-writing 
will  not  disturb  it. 

January  i6t/i. — I  wonder  what's  got  into  me  to-day — I  feel 
cross,  without  the  least  bit  of  reason  for  so  feeling.  I  guess 
I'm  not  well,  for  I'm  sure  I've  felt  like  one  great  long  sunbeam, 
I  don't  know  how  many  months,  and  it  doesn't  come  natural 
to  be  fretful. 

17M. — I  knew  I  wasn't  well  yesterday  and  to-day  am  half 
sick.  We  got  through  breakfast  at  twenty  minutes  to  eleven, 
and  as  I  was  up  at  seven,  I  got  kind  o'  hungry  and  out  of  sorts. 
This  afternoon  went  to  church  and  heard  one  of  Dr.  E.'s  argu- 
mentative sermons.  But  there's  something  in  those  Prayer- 
book  prayers,  certainly,  if  men  won't  or  can't  put  any  grace 
into  their  sermons.  I  wish  I  had  a  perfect  ideal  Sunday  in  my 
head  or  heart,  or  both.  If  I'm  very  good  I'm  tired  at  night,  and 
if  I'm  bad  my  conscience  smites  me — so  any  way  I'm  not  very 
happy  just  now  and  I'm  sick  and  mean  to  go  to  bed  and  so  ! 

i8//^.— Had  a  talk  with  Nannie.  She  has  a  thoughtful  mind 
and  who  knows  but  we  may  do  her  some  good.  I  love  to  have 
her  here,  and  for  once  in  my  life  like  to  feel  a  little  bit — just 
the  least  bit — old;  that  is,  old  enough  to  give  a  little  sage 
advice  to  the  poor  thing,  when  she  asks  it.  She  says  she  won't 
read  any  more  novels  and  will  read  the  Bible  and  dear  knows 
what  else  she  said  about  finding  an  angel  for  me  to  marry, 
which  heaven  forbid  she  should  do,  since  I'm  too  fond  of  being 
a  little  mite  naughty,  to  desire  anything  of  that  sort.  After 
she. was  in  bed  she  began  to  say  her  prayers  most  vehemently 
and  among  other  things,  prayed  for  Miss  Payson.  I  had  the 
strangest  sensation,  and  yet  an  almost  heavenly  one,  if  I  may 
say  so.  May  it  please  Heaven  to  listen  to  her  prayer  for  me, 
and  mine  for  her,  dear  child.  But  suppose  I  do  her  no  good 
w\i\\&  she  lives  so  under  my  wing? 

igf/i. — Up  early — walked  and  read  Leighton.  Mr.  P.  amused 
us  at  dinner  by  giving  a  funny  account  in  his  funny  way,  of  a 
mistake  of  E H. 's.     She  asked  me  the  French  for  as. 


jg  Tin-    LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

"Aussi"  cir.oth  I.  Thereupon  she  tucked  a  great  O.  C.  mto 
her  exercise  and  took  it  to  him  and  they  jabbered  and  sput- 
tered  over  it,  and  she  insisted  that  Miss  Payson  said  so  and  he 
put  his  face  right  into  hers  and  said,  Will  you  try  to  prove 
that  Miss  Payson  is  a  fool,  you  little  goose?"  and  at  last  Miss 
A  understood  and  explained.  Read  Leighton  after  school 
and  thirty-two  pages  of  Lamartine-then  Mr.  P.  calkd-then 

Mis-  teased  me"  to  love  her  and  kept  me  in  her  paws  till 

the  bell  rang  for  tea.  Why  can't  I  like  her?  I  should  be  so 
ashamed  if  I  should  find  out  after  all  that  she  is  as  good  as  she 
seems,  but  I  never  did  get  cheated  yet  when  I  trusted  my  own 
mother  wits,  my  instinct,  or  whatever  it  is  by  which  I  know 
folks— and  she  is  found  wanting  by  this  something. 

28M.— Mrs.  Persico  has  comforted  me  to-day.     She  says  Mr. 
T.  came  to  Mr.  P.  with  tears  in  his  eyes  (could  such  a  man  shed 
tears?)   and   told  him  that  I   should  be  the  salvation  of  his 
child— that  she  was  already  the   happiest   and   most  altered 
creature,  and  begged  him  to  tell  me  so.     I  was  ashamed  and 
happy  too— but  I  think  Mr.  P.  should  have  told  him  that  if 
good  has  been  done  to  Nannie,  it  is  ^j- much— to  say  the  least- 
owing  to  Louisa  as  to  me.     L.  always  joins  me  in  everything  I 
do  and  say  for  her,  and  I  would  not  have  even  an  accident  de- 
prive her  of  her  just  reward  for  anything.     Nannie  sat  on  the 
floor  to-night  in  her  night-gowm,  thinking.     At  last  she  said, 
"  Miss  Payson  ? "     "  Well,  little  witch  ?  "     "  You  wouldn't  care 
much  if  you  should  die  to-night,  should  you?"     "No,  I  think 
not."     "Nor  I,"  said  she.     "Why,  do  you  think  you  should  be 
better  off  than   you   are  here?"     "Yes,  in  heaven,"  said  she. 
"  Why  how  do  you  know  you'll  go  to  heaven  ? "     She  looked  at 
me  seriously  and  said,  "Oh,  I  don't  know— I  don't  know— I 
don't  think   I  should  like  to  go  to  the  other  place."     We  had 
then  a  long  talk  with  her  and  it  seems  she's  a  regular  little 
believer   in    Purgatory — but    I   wouldn't   dispute  with   her.     I 
jruess  there's  a  way  of  getting  at  her  heart  better  than  that. 
....  Why  is  it  that  I  have  such  a  sensitiveness  on  religious 
points,  sucli  a  dread  of  having  my  own  private  aims  and  emc»- 
tions  known  by  those  about  me  ?     Is  it  right?     I  should  like  to 
be  just  what  the  Christian  ought  to  be  in  these  relations.    Miss 

expects  me  to  make  speeches  to  her,  but  I  can  ?iot.     If  1 

thought  I  knew  ever  so  much,  I  could  not,  and  she  annoys  me 


Till-:   NEW    LIFE   IN   CHRIST.  jg 

SO.  Oh,  I  wish  it  didn't  hurt  my  soul  so  to  touch  it !  It's  just 
like  a  butterfly's  wing-people  can't  help  tearing  off  the  very 
invisible  down,  so  to  speak,  for  which  they  take  a  fancy  to  it  if 
they  get  it  between  fingers  and  thumb,  and  so  I  have  to  suffer 
foi  their  curiosity's  sake.  Am  I  bound  to  reveal  my  heart-life 
to  everybody  who  asks  }  Must  I  not  believe  that  the  heavenly 
love  may,  in  one  sense,  be  hidden  from  outward  eye  and  out- 
ward  touch  .?  or  am  I  wrong  ? 

Feb.  I,  1841.— Rose  later  than  usual— cold,  dull,  rainy  morn- 
ing.  Read  in  Life  of  Wilberforce.  Defended  Nannie  with 
more  valor  than  discretion.  This  evening  the  storm  departed 
and  the  moonlight  was  more  beautiful  than  ever  ;  and  I  was 
so  sad  and  so  happy,  and  the  life  beyond  and  above  seemed  so 
beautiful.  Oh,  how  I  have  longed  to-day  for  heaven  within 
my  own  soul  !  There  has  been  much  unspoken  prayer  in  my 
heart  to-night.  I  don't  know  what  I  should  do  if  I  could  have 
my  room  all  to  myself— and  not  have  people  know  it  if  even  a 
good  thought  comes  into  my  mind.  I  shall  be  happy  in  heaven, 
I  know  I  shall— for  even  here  prayer  and  praise  are  so  infinitely 
more  delightful  than  anything  else. 

3^.— Woke  with  headache,  got  through  school  as  best  I 
could,  then  came  and  curled  myself  up  in  a  ball  in  the  easy- 
chair  and  didn't  move  till  nine,  when  I  crept  down  to  say 
good-bye  to  poor  Mrs.  Persico.  Miss  L.  and  Miss  J.  received 
me  in  their  room  so  tenderly  and  affectionately  that  I  was 
ashamed.  What  makes  them  love  me .?  I  am  sure  I  should 
not  think  they  could. 

10//..— I  wonder  who  folks  think  I  am,  and  what  they  think? 

Sally  R sent  me  up  her  book  of  autographs  with  a  request 

that  I  would  add  mine.  I  looked  it  over  and  found  very  great 
names,  and  did  not  know  whether  to  laugh  or  cry  at  her  funny 
request,  which  I  couldn'  t  have  made  up  my  mouth  to  grant. 
How  queer  it  seems  to  me  that  people  won't  let  me  be  a  little 
gin  and  will  act  as  if  I  were  an  old  maid  or  matron  of  ninety- 
nine  !  Poor  Mr.  Persico  is  terribly  unhappy  and  walks  up  and 
down  perpetually  with  such  a  step. 

^^^f  ~" I  am   sure    that  in  these  little  thin^rs  God's 

hand  is  just  as  clearly  to  be  seen  as  in  His  wonderful  worl<^  of 

power,  and   tried   to  make  Miss  see  this,  but  she  either 

couldn't  or  wouldn't.     It  seems  to  me  that  God  is  my  Father 


6o  TIIK    LIFE   OF   MRS.    ITIENTISS. 

my  own  Father,  and  it  is  so  natural  to  turn  right  to  Hun,  ever> 
minute  almost,  with  cither  thank-offerings  or  petition.,  that  I 
never  once  stop  to  ask  if  such  and  such  a  matter  is  sufficiently 
great  for  1 1  is  notice.     Miss seemed  quite  astonished  when 

I  said  so.  .       .  w 

^(^th— I've  been  instituting  an  inquiry  into  myselt 

to-day  and  have  been  worthily  occupied  in  comparing  myself 
to  an  onion,  though  in  view  of  the  fragrance  of  that  highly 
useful  vegetable,  I  hope  the  comparison  won't  go  on  all  tours 
But  I  have  as  many  natures  as  an  onion  has— what  d'ye  call 
'em— coats  ?     First  the  outside  skin  or  nature— kind  o'  tough 
and  ugly  ;  ^//vbody  may  see  that  and  welcome.     Then  comes 
my  next  nature— a  little  softer— a  little  more  removed  from 
curious  eyes  ;  then  my  inner  one— myself— that  'ere  little  round 
ball  which  nobody  ever  did  or  ever  will  see  the  w^hole  of— at 
least,  s'pose  not.     Now  most  people  see  only  the  outer  rind— a 
brown,  red,  yellow,  tough  skin  and  that's  all  ;  but  I  tJiink  there's 
something  inside  that's  better  and  more  truly  an  onion  than 
might  at  first  be  guessed.  And  so  I'm  an  onion  and  that's  the  end. 
jy///  _Mi-s.  P.'s  birthday,  in  honor  of  which  cake  and  wine. 
Mr.  P.  was  angry  with  us  because  we  took  no  wine.     If  he  hac 
asked  me  civilly  to  drink  his  wife's  health,  I  should  probably 
have  done  so,  but  I  am  not  to  be  frightened  into  anything.     I 
made  a  funny  speech  and  got  him  out  of  his  bearish  mood, 
and   then  we  all  proceeded  to  the  portico  to  see  if  the   new 
President  had  arrived — by  which  means  we  obtained  a  satis- 
factory view  of  two  cows,  three  geese,  one  big  boy  in  a  white 
apron  and  one  small  one  in  a  blue  apron,  three  darkies  of  femi- 
nine gender  and  one  old  horse  ;  but  Harrison  himself  we  saw 
not.     Mr.  Persico  says  it's  Tyler's  luck  to  get  into  office  by  the 
dcalh  of  his  superior,  and  declares  Harrison  must  inf^iUibly  die 
to  secure  John  Tyler's  fate.     It's  to  be  hoped  this  w^on't  be  the 
case. ' 

i^farch  6t/i. — Miss  L.  read  to  us  to-day  some  sprightly  and 
amusing  little  notes  written  her  years  ago  by  a  friend  with 
whom  she  still  corresponds.  I  was  struck  with  the  contrast 
between  these  youthful  and  light-hearted  fragments  and  her 
present  letters,  now  that  she  is  a  wife  and  mother.     I  wonder 

>  But,  singularly  enoiip:!),  it  was.     President  Harrison  died  April  4,  1S41,  just  a  niuuth 
liter  liis  inaui;uialit>n,  and  Mi.    I'yler  succeeded  liiui.  ^ 


THE   NEW    LIFE    IN   CHRIST.  6l 

if  there  is  always  this  difference  between  the  girl  and  woman  ^ 
If  so,  heaven  forbid  I  should  ever  cease  to  be  a  child  ! 

iSt/i. — Headache — Nannie  sick  ;  held  her  in  my  arms  twa 
or  three  hours  ;  had  a  great  fuss  with  her  about  taking  her 
medicine,  but  at  last  out  came  my  word  ??iiist,  and  the  little 
witch  knew  it  meant  all  it  said  and  down  went  the  oil  in  a  jitfy, 
while  I  stood  by  laughing  at  myself  for  my  pretension  of  dig- 
nity. The  poor  child  couldn't  go  to  sleep  till  she  had  thankcil 
me  over  and  over  for  making  her  mind  and  for  taking  care  of 
her,  and  wouldn't  let  go  my  hand,  so  I  had  to  sit  up  until  very 
late — and  then  I  was  sick  and  sad  and  restless,  for  I  couldn't 
have  my  room  to  myself  and  the  day  didn't  seem  finished  with- 
out it. 

It  is  a  perfect  mystery  to  me  how  folks  get  along  with  so 
little  praying.  Their  hearts  must  be  better  than  mine,  or  some- 
thing. What  is  it  ?  But  if  God  sees  that  the  desire  of  my 
whole  heart  is  to-night — has  been  all  day — towards  Himself, 
will  He  not  know  this  as  prayer,  answer  it  as  such  ?  Yes, 
prayer  is  certainly  something  more  than  bending  of  the  knees 
and  earnest  words,  and  I  do  believe  that  goodness  and  mercy 
will  descend  upon  me,  though  with  my  lips  I  ask  not. 

2^th. — Had  a  long  talk  with  Mr.  Persico  about  my  style  of 
governing.  He  seemed  interested  in  what  I  had  to  say  about 
appeals  to  the  conscience,  but  said  my  youthful  entkusias??i  would 
get  cooled  down  when  I  knew  more  of  the  world.  I  told  him, 
very  pertly,  that  I  hoped  I  should  never  know  the  world  then. 
He  laughed  and  asked,  "You  expect  to  make  out  of  these 
stupid  children  such  characters,  such  hearts  as  yours  ?  "  "  No — 
but  better  ones."  He  shook  his  head  and  said  I  had  put  him 
into  good  humor.  I  don't  know  what  he  meant.  I've  been 
acting  like  Sancho  to-day — rushing  up  stairs  two  at  a  time, 

frisking  about,  catching  up  Miss  J in  all  her  maiden  dignity 

and  tossing  her  right  into  the  midst  of  our  bed.     Who's  going 
to  be  "  schoolma'am  "  out  of  school  ?     Not  I  !     I  mean  to  l)e 

jubt  as  funny  as  I  please,  and  what's  more  I'll  make  Miss 

funny,  too, — that  I  will  !  She'd  have  so  much  more  health — 
Christian  health,  I  mean — if  she  would  leave  off  trying  to  gel 
to  heaven  in  such  a  dreadful  bad  "way."  I  can't  think  rcii^^ion 
makes  such  a  long,  gloomy  face.  It  must  be  that  she  is  wrong 
or  else  I  am.  I  wonder  which?  Why  it's  all  sunshine  to  me— 
and  all  clouds  to  her  !     Poor  Miss ,  you  might  be  so  happy 


52  THE   LIFE   OF    MRS.    PRENTISS. 

April  9M.— Holidav.  We  all  took  a  long  walk,  which  I  en 
'oved  hi^rhly  I  was  in  a  half  moralising  mood  all  thp  way 
wanted  to  be  by  myself  very  much.  We  talked  more  than 
usual  about  home  and  I  grew  so  sad.  Oh,  I  wonder  if  any. 
body  loves  me  as  Hove!  I  wonder  !  I  long  for  mother,  and  if 
I  could  just  see  her  and  know  that  she  is  happy  and  that  she 
will  be  well  again  !  It  is  really  a  curious  question  with  me, 
whether  provided  I  ever  fall  in  love  (for  V\\  fall  in  love,  else 
not  go  in  at  all)  I  shall  leave  off  loving  mother  best  of  any- 
body in  the  world  ?  I  suppose  I  shall  be  in  love  sometime  or 
other,  but  that's  nothing  to  do  with  me  now  nor  I  with  it.  I've 
got  my  hands  full  to  take  care  of  my  naughty  little  self. 

i7///,_Mrs.  Persico  got  home  to-night'  and  what  a  meeting 
we  had  !  what  rejoicing  !  How  beautiful  she  looked  as  she  sat 
in  her  low  chair,  and  we  stood  and  knelt  in  a  happy  circle  about 
her  !  A  queen— an  angel— could  not  have  received  love  and 
homage  with  a  sweeter  grace.  Sue  Irvine  cried  an  hour  for 
joy  and  I  wished  I  were  one  of  the  crying  sort,  for  I'm  sure  1 
was  glad  enough  to  do  almost  anything.  Beautiful  woman  ! 
We  sang  to  her  the  Welcome  Home,  Miss  F.  singing  as  much 
with  her  eyes  as  with  her  voice,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Persico  both 
cried,  he  like  a  little  child.  Oh,  that  such  evenings  as  this 
came  oftener  in  one's  life  !  All  that  was  beautiful  and  good  in 
each  of  our  hidden  natures  came  dancing  out  to  greet  her  at 
her  coming,  and  all  petty  jealousies  were  so  quieted  and— 
why,  what  a  rhapsody  I'm  writing  !  And  to-morrow,  our  good 
better  natures  tucked  away,  dear  knows  where,  we  shall  de- 
scend with  business-like  airs  to  breakfast,  wish  each  other  good 
morning,  pretend  that  we  haven't  any  hearts.  Oh,  is  this  life  ! 
I  won't  l)elieve  it.  Our  good  genius  has  come  back  to  us  ; 
now  all  things  will  again  go  on  smoothly  ;  once  more  I  can  be 
a  little  girl  and  frolic  up  here  instead  of  playing  Miss  Dignity 
down-stairs. 

Max  itli. — This  evening  I  passed  unavoidably  through  Miss 

's  room.     She  was  reading  Byron  as  usual  and  looked  sc 

'vretched  and  restless,  that  I  could  not  help  yielding  to  a  lov- 
ing impulse  and  juitting  my  hand  on  hers  and  asking  why  she 
was  so  sad.  She  told  me.  It  was  just  what  I  supposed.  She 
is  trying  to  be  happy,  and  can  not  find  out  how;  reads  Byron 

'  From  riiikiilelphia,  where  she  had  undergdue  a  surgical  operation. 


THE    NEW    LIFE    I\    CHRIST.  63 

and  gets  sickly  views  of  life;  sits  up  late  dreaming  about  love 
and  lovers;  then,  too  tired  to  pray  or  think  good  thoughts, 
tosses  herself  down  upon  her  bed  and  wishes  herself  dead. 
She  did  not  tell  me  this,  to  be  sure,  but  I  gathered  it  from  her 
story.  I  alluded  to  her  religious  history  and  present  hopes 
She  said  she  did  not  think  continued  acts  of  faith  in  Christ 
necessary  ;  she  had  believed  on  Him  once,  and  now  He  would 
save  her  whatever  she  did;  and  she  was  not  going  to  torment 
herself  trying  to  live  so  very  holy  a  life,  since,  after  all,  she 
should  get  to  heaven  just  as  well  through  Him  as  if  she  had 
been  particularly  good  (as  she  termed  it).  I  don't  know 
whether  a  good  or  a  bad  spirit  moved  me  at  that  minute,  but  I 
forgot  that  I  was  a  mere  child  in  religious  knowledge,  and 
talked  about  my  doctrine  and  made  it  a  very  beautiful  one  to 
my  mind,  though  I  don't  think  she  thought  it  so.  Oh,  for 
what  would  I  give  up  the  happiness  of  praying  for  a  holy  heart 
—of  striving,  struggling  for  it!  Yes,  it  is  indeed  true  that  we 
are  to  be  saved  simply,  only,  apart  from  our  own  goodness, 
through  the  love  of  Christ.  But  who  can  believe  himself  thus 
chosen  of  God — who  can  think  of  and  hold  communion  with 
Infinite  Holiness,  and  not  long  for  the  Divine  image  in  his  own 
soul  ?  It  is  a  mystery  to  me — these  strange  doctrines.  Is  not 
the  fruit  of  love  aspiration  after  the  holy?  Is  not  the  act  of 
the  new-born  soul,  when  it  passes  from  death  unto  life,  that  of 
desire  for  assimilation  to  and  oneness  with  Him  who  is  its  all 
in  all  ?  How  can  love  and  faith  be  one  act  and  then  cease  ?  I 
dare  not  believe — I  would  not  for  a  universe  believe — that  my 
very  sense  of  safety  in  the  love  of  Christ  is  not  to  be  just  the 
sense  that  shall  bind  me  in  grateful  self-renunciation  wholly  to 
His  service.  Let  me  be  sure  of  final  rest  in  heaven — sure  that 
at  this  moment  I  am  really  God's  own  adopted  child  ;  and  I 
believe  my  prayers,  my  repentings,  my  weariness  of  sin,  would 
be  just  what  they  now  are;  nay,  more  deep,  more  abundant. 
Oh,  it  is  because  I  believe — fully  believe  that  I  shall  be  saved 
through  Christ — that  I  want  to  be  like  Him  here  upon  earth 
It  is  because  I  do  not  fear  final  misery  that  I  shrink  from  sin 
and  defilement  here.  Oh,  that  I  could  put  into  that  poor  be- 
wildered heart  of  hers  just  the  sweet  repose  upon  the  ever 
present  Saviour  which  He  has  given  unto  me!  The  quietnessi 
with  which  my  whole  soul  rests  upon  Him  is  such  blessed  qui 
etness  !     I  shall  not  soon  forget  this  strange  evening. 


CHAPTER  III. 

PASSING  FROM   GIRLHOOD   INTO   WOMANHOOD. 

184I-1845. 

I. 

At  Home  aj^ain.  Marriaf;:e  of  her  Sister.  Ill-Health.  Letters.  Spiritual  Aspiration 
and  Conflict.  Perfectionism,  "  Very,  very  Happy."  Work  for  Christ  what  makes 
Life  attractive.     Passages  from  Her  Journal.     A  Point  of  Difficulty. 

Not  long  after  Elizabeth's  return  from  Richmond,  her  sis- 
ter was  married  to  the  Rev.  Albert  Hopkins,  Professor  in 
Williams  College.  The  wedding  had  been  delayed  for  her 
coming.  "  I  would  rather  wait  six  years  than  not  have  you 
present,"  her  sister  wrote.  This  event  brought  her  into  inti- 
mate relations  with  a  remarkable  man  ;  a  man  much  beloved 
in  his  day,  and  whose  name  will  often  reappear  in  these  pages. 

The  next  two  or  three  months  show^ed  that  her  Richmond 
life,  although  so  full  of  happy  experiences,  had  yet  drawn 
licavily  upon  her  strength.  They  were  marked  by  severe  nen^- 
ous  excitement  and  fits  of  depression.  This,  however,  passed 
away  and  she  settled  down  again  into  a  busy  home  life.  But 
it  was  no  longer  the  home  life  of  the  past.  The  year  of  ab- 
sence had  left  a  profound  impression  upon  her  character.  Her 
mind  and  heart  had  undergone  a  rapid  development.  She 
was  only  twenty-two  on  her  return,  and  had  still  all  the  fresh, 
artless  simplicity  of  a  young  girl,  but  there  was  joined  to  it 
now  the  maturity  of  womanhood.  Of  the  rest  of  the  year  o 
record  is  preserved  in  letters  to  her  cousin.  These  letters  give 
many  little  details  respecting  her  daily  tasks  and  the  life  she 
led  In  the  family  and  in  the  world  ;  but  they  are  chiefly  inter- 


PASSING  FROM    GIRLHOOD    INTO    WOMANHOOD.  05 

esting  for  the  light  they  shed  upon  her  progress  heavenward. 
Her  whole  soul  was  still  absorbed  in  divine  things.  At  times 
her  delight  in  them  was  sweet  and  undisturbed  ;  then  again, 
she  found  herself  tossed  to  and  fro  upon  the  waves  of  spiritual 
conflict.  Perfectionism  was  just  then  much  discussed,  and  the 
question  troubled  her  not  a  little,  as  it  did  again  thirty  years 
later.  But  whether  agitated  or  at  rest,  her  thoughts  all  cen- 
tered in  Christ,  and  her  const :mt  prayer  was  for  more  love  to 
Him. 

Portland,  Sept.  15,  1841. 
The  Lord  Jesus  is  indeed  dear  to  me.  I  can  not  doubt  it. 
His  name  is  exceedingly  precious.  Oh,  help  me,  my  dear  cousin, 
to  love  Him  more,  to  attain  His  image,  to  live  only  for  Him  ! 
I  blush  and  am  ashamed  when  I  consider  how  inadequate  are 
the  returns  I  am  making  Him  ;  yet  I  can  praise  Him  for  all 
that  is  past  and  trust  Him  for  all  that  is  to  come.  I  can  not 
tell  you  how  delightful  prayer  is.  I  feel  that  in  it  I  have  com- 
munion with  God — that  He  is  here — that  He  is  mine  and  that 
I  am  His.  I  long  to  make  progress  every  day,  each  minute 
seems  precious,  and  I  constantly  tremble  lest  I  should  lose  one 
in  returning,  instead  of  pressing  forward  with  all  my  strength. 
No,  not  my  strength,  for  I  have  none,  but  with  all  which  the 
Lord  gives  me.  How  can  I  thank  you  enough  that  you  pray 
for  me  ! 

Sept.  iS>th. — I  am  all  the  time  so  nervous  that  life  would  be 
insupportable  if  I  had  not  the  comfort  of  comforts  to  rejoice  in.  I 
often  think  mother  would  not  trust  me  to  carry  the  dishes  to  the 
closet,  if  she  knew  how  strong  an  effort  I  have  to  make  to  avoid 
dashing  them  all  to  pieces.  When  I  am  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs  1  can  hardly  help  throwing  myself  down,  and  I  believe  it 
a  greater  degree  of  just  such  a  state  as  this  which  induces  the 
suicide  to  put  an  end  to  his  existence.  It  was  never  so  bad 
with  me  before.  Do  you  know  anything  of  such  a  feeling  as 
this?  To-night,  for  instance,  my  head  began  to  feel  all  at  once 
as  if  it  were  enlarging  till  at  last  it  seemed  to  fill  the  room,  and 
I  thought  it  large  enough  to  carry  away  the  house.  Then  every 
object  of  which  I  thought  enlarged  in  proportion.  Wlien  this 
goes  off  the  sense  of  the  contraction  is  equally  singular.  My 
head  felt  about  the  size  of  a  pin's  head  ;  our  church  and  every- 
body in  it  appeared  about  the  bigness  of  a  cup,  etc.  These 
5 


56  THE    LIFE   OF   MRS.  PRENTISS. 

Strange  sensations  terminate  invariably  with  one  still  more  sin- 
gular  and  particularly  pleasant.  I  can  not  describe  it-it  is  a 
sense  of  smoothness  and  a  little  of  dizziness.  If  you  never  had 
such  feelings  this  will  be  all  nonsense  to  you,  but  if  you  have 
and  can  explain  them  to  me,  why  I  shall  be  indeed  thankful.  I 
have  been  subject  to  them  ever  since  I  can  remember.  I  never 
ma  with  a  physician  yet  who  seemed  to  know  what  is  the  mat- 
ter  with  me,  or  to  care  a  fig  whether  I  got  well  or  not.  All 
they  do  is  to  roll  up  their  eyes  and  shake  their  heads  and  say, 
"  Oh  !"....  As  to  the  wedding,  we  had  a  regular  fuss,  so  that 
I  hardly  knew  whether  I  was  in  the  body  or  out  of  it.  The 
Professor  was  here  only  two  days.  He  is  very  eminently  holy, 
his  friends  say,  and  from  what  I  saw  of  him,  I  should  think  it 
true.  This  was  the  point  which  interested  sister  in  him.  As 
soon  as  the  wedding  was  over  my  spirits  departed  and  fled.  It 
is  true  enough   that  "marriage  involves  one  union,  but  majiy 

separations  y 

Q^t  iy//^._\Ve  had  a  most  precious  sermon  this  afternoon 
from  the  Baptist  minister  on  the  words,  "  Christ  is  all  and  in 
all."  I  longed  to  have  you  hear  the  Saviour  thus  dwelt  upon. 
I  did  not  know  how  full  the  Apostles  were  of  His  praise— how 
constantly  they  dwelt  upon  Him,  till  it  was  spread  before  me 
thus  in  one  delightful  view.  Oh,  may  He  become  our  all— our 
beginning  and  our  ending— our  first  and  our  last !  I  do  love 
to  hear  Him  thus  honored  and  adored.  Let  us,  dear  cousin, 
look  at  our  Saviour  more.  Let  us  never  allow  aught  to  come 
between  our  hearts  and  our  God.  Speak  to  me  as  to  your  own 
soul,  urging  me  onward,  and  if  you  do  not  see  the  fruits  of 
your  faithfulness  here,  may  you  see  when  sowing  is  turned  to 
reaping. 

Oct.  24M. — I  must  call  upon  you  to  rejoice  with  me  that  I 
have  to-day  got  back  my  old  Sunday-school  class.  I  wondered 
a  .  their  being  so  earnest  about  having  me  again,  yet  I  trust 
that  God  has  given  me  this  hold  upon  their  affections  for  some 
good  purpose I  do  not  know  exactly  how  to  discrimi- 
nate between  the  suggestions  of  Satan  and  those  of  my  own 
heart,  but  for  a  week  past,  even  \vhile  my  inclinations  and  my 
will  were  set  upon  Christ,  something  followed  me  in  my  down- 
sittings  and  my  ujirisings,  urging  me  to  hate  the  Lord  Jesus 
asking   if   11  i^  strict   requirements  were  n-^t  too  strait  to  be  en- 


TASSING   FROM    (GIRLHOOD    INTO    WOMAXTIOOD.  67 

dured  ;  and  it  has  grieved  me  deeply  that  such  a  thought  could 
find  its  way  into  my  mind.  "  I  have  prayed  for  thee  that  thy 
faith  fail  not  "  is  my  last  refuge.  How  graciously  did  Jesus 
provide  a  separate  consolation  for  each  difficulty  which  lli! 
foresaw  could  meet  His  disciples  on  their  way. 

Nov.  2>t/i. — Mother  has  been  sick.  The  doctor  feared  inflam- 
mation of  the  brain  ;  but  she  is  better  now.  I  have  had  my 
first  experience  as  a  nurse,  and  Dr.  Mighels  says  I  am  a  good 
one. 

Whenever  I  think  of  God's  wonderful,  luonderftd  goodness  to 
me  and  of  my  own  sinfulness,  I  want  to  find  a  place  low  at  the 
foot  of  the  cross  where  I  may  cover  my  face  in  the  dust,  and 
yet  go  on  praising  Him.  You  do  not  know  how  all  things 
have  been  made  new  to  me  within  less  than  two  years.  Still,  I 
struggle  fiercely  every  hour  of  my  life.  For  instance,  my  de- 
sire to  be  much  beloved  by  those  dear  to  me,  is  a  source  of 
constant  grief.  Some  weeks  ago,  a  person,  who  probably  did 
not  know  this,  told  me  that  I  was  remarkably  lovable  and  that 
everybody  said  so.  I  was  so  foolish,  so  wicked,  as  to  be  more 
pleased  by  this  than  I  dare  to  tell — but  enough  so  to  give  me 
after-hours  of  bitter  sorrow.  Sometimes  it  seem.s  to  me  that  I 
grow  prouder  every  day,  and  I  wanted  to  ask  mother  if  she 
did  not  think  so  ;  but  I  thought  perhaps  God  is  showing  me 
my  pride  as  I  had  never  seen  it  that  I  may  wage  war  against 
this.  His  enemy  and  mine.  I  do  not  believe  anybody  else  has 
such  an  evil  nature  as  I.  But  let  us  never  rest  till  we  are  satis- 
fied with  being  counted  as  nothing,  that  our  Saviour  may  be 
all  in  all.  It  seems  no  small  portion  of  the  joy  I  long  for  in 
heaven,  to  be  thus  self-forgetful  in  love  to  Christ.  How  strange 
that  we  do  not  now  supremely  love  Him.  How  I  do  long  to 
live  with  those  who  praise  Him.  I  long  to  have  every  Chris- 
tian with  whom  I  meet  speak  of  Him  with  love  and  exalt  Him.' 

Nov.  \2th. — I  have  been  very  unwell  and  low-spirited.  The 
cause  of  this,  folks  seem  to  agree,  was  over-exertion  during 
mother's  sickness.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  was  so  anxious  about 
her  that  I  did   not  try  to  save  my  strength  at  all,  and  excite- 

>  ya7i.  I,  1S45.— I  used  never  to  confide  my  religious  feelinf;:s  to  any  one  in  the  world- 
[  went  on  my  toilsome,  comfortless  way  quite  by  myself.  But  when  at  the  tnd  cf  tills 
long-,  gloomy  way,  I  saw  and  knew  and  rejoiced  in  Christ,  then  I  forgot  myself  and  my 
pride  and  my  reserve,  and  wa5  glad  if  a  little  child  would  hear  me  say  "  I  love  Him  I  "- 
glad  if  the.  most  ignorant,  the  most  hitherto  despised,  would  speak  of  Him. 


68  TTIK   UFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

mcnt  Vcpt  mc  up,  so  that  I  was  not  conscious  of  any  special  fa 
tiiruc  till  all  was  over  and  the  reaction  came,  when  I  just  went 
into  a  dead-and-alive  state  and  had  the  "blues"  outrageously 
It  seemed  as  if  I  could  do  nothing  but  fold  my  hands  and  cry. 
Sister  is  coming  home  this  winter.  I  would  like  you  to  see 
this  letter  of  hers.  She  is  as  nearly  a  perfectionist  now  as  your 
father  is.  She  begs  me  to  read  the  New  Testament  and  to  pray 
for  a  knowledge  of  the  truth.  And  so  I  have  for  a  year  and  a  half, 
and  this  is  what  I  learn  thereby  :  "The  heart  is  deceitful  above 
all  things  and  desperately  wicked  "—at  least  such  I  find  mine 
to  be.  To  be  sure,  that  I  am  not  perfect  is  no  proof  that  I  may 
not  become  so  ;  however,  I  feel  most  sympathy  with  those  who, 
like  Martyn,  Brainerd,  and  my  father,  had  to  fight  their  way 
through.  Yet  her  remarks  threw  my  mind  into  great  confu- 
sion at  first  and  I  knew  not  what  to  do;  thereupon  I  went  at 
once  with  my  difficulties  to  the  Lord  and  tried  to  seek  thetruth^ 
whatever  it  might  be,  from  Him.  It  seems  to  me  that  I  am  safe 
while  in  His  hands,  and  that  if  those  things  are  essential.  He 
will  not  withhold  them  from  me.  Truly,  if  there  is  a  royal 
road  to  holiness,  and  if  in  one  moment  of  time  sin  may  be 
crushed  and  forever  slain,  I  of  all  others  should  know  it ;  for 
at  present  the  way  is  thronged  with  difficulties.'  It  seems  to 
inr  that  I  am  made  of  wants — I  need  everything.  At  the  same 
time,  how  great  is  the  goodness  of  God  to  me !  I  long  to  have 
mv  heart  so  filled  with  the  one  single  image  of  my  Redeemer, 
that  it  shall  ever  flow  in  spontaneous  adoration.  Such  a  Sav- 
iour! I  am  pained  to  the  very  depths  of  my  soul  because  I 
love  Him  so  little If  I  am  only  purified  and  made  en- 
tirely the  Lord's,  let  Him  take  His  own  course  and  make  the  re- 
fining process  ever  so  painful. 

"  WHicn  the  shore  is  won  at  last, 
Who  will  count  the  billows  past?" 

Dec.  \(ith. — Do  you  remember  what  father  said  about  losing 

•  \a\vx  slf  writes :  "I  have  had  a  lonp:  talk  with  sister  to-day  about  Leighton.  She 
cbiins  him.  as  all  the  I'crfectiotiists  do,  as  one  of  their  number;  thougfh,  by  the  way,  in 
thr  cnmn.oii  acceptation  of  the  woixl,  she  is  nr t  a  Perfectionist  herself,  but  only  on  the 
lx>unHar>--linc  of  the  enchanted  ground.  I  am  completely  puzzled  when  I  think  on  such 
BU>)j«Hns.  I  doubt  if  sister  is  ri^'ht,  yet  know  not  where  she  is  wrong.  She  does  not  ob- 
tnide  her  peculiar  opinions  on  any  one,  and  I  be£;an  the  conversation  this  afternoon  my- 


PASSING   FROM    GIRLHOCM^   INTO   WOMANHOOD.  69 

his  will  when  near  the  close  of  his  life?  That  remark  has  al- 
ways  made  the  subject  of  a  lost  will  interesting  to  me.  There  is 
another  place  where  he  wishes  he  had  known  this  blessedness 
twenty  years  before/ 

Dec.  18///. — I  am  very,  very  happy;  and  yet  it  is  hardly  a 
happiness  which  I  can  describe.  You  know  what  it  is  to  re- 
joice in  the  sweet  consciousness  that  there  is  a  Saviour — a  near 
and  a  present  Saviour ;  and  thus  am  I  now  rejoicing ;  grateful 
to  Him  for  His  holy  nature,  for  His  power  over  me,  for  His 
dealings  with  me,  for  a  thousand  things  which  I  can  only  try 
to  express  to  Him.  Oh,  how  excellent  above  all  treasures  does 
He  now  appear !  One  minute  of  nearness  to  the  Lord  Jesus 
contains  more  of  delight  than  years  spent  in  intercourse 
with  any  earthly  friend.  I  could  not  but  own  to-night  that 
God  can  make  me  happy  without  a  right  hand  or  a  right  eye. 
Lord,  make  me  Thine,  and  I  will  cheerfully  give  Thee  all. 

Dec.  lid. — As  to  my  Italian  and  Tasso,  I  am  ashamed  to  tell 
you  how  slow  I  have  been.  Between  company  and  housework 
£ind  sewing  I  have  my  hands  about  full,  and  precious  little  time 
for  reading  and  study.  Still,  I  feel  that  I  live  a  life  of  too  much 
ease.  I  should  love  to  spend  the  rest  of  my  existence  in  the 
actual  service  of  the  Lord,  without  a  question  as  to  its  ease  and 
comfort.  Reading  Brainerd  this  afternoon  made  me  long  for 
his  loose  hold  on  earthly  things.  I  do  not  know  how  to  attain 
to  such  a  spirit.  Is  it  by  prayer  alone  and  the  consequent 
sense  of  the  worth  of  Divine  things  that  this  deadness  to  the 
world  is  to  be  gained — or,  by  giving  up,  casting  away  the 
treasures  which  withdraw  the  heart  or  have  a  tendency  to  with- 
draw it  from  God?  This  is  quite  an  interesting  question  to  me 
now,  and  I  should  really  like  it  settled.  The  thought  of  living 
a])art  from  God  is  more  dreadful  than  any  affliction  I  can 
think  of. 

^  "  Oh,  what  a  blessed  thing  it  is  to  lose  one's  will !  Since  I  have  lost  my  will  I  havfl 
found  happiness.  There  can  be  no  such  thing  as  disappointment  to  me,  for  1  liave  node- 
sires  but  that  God's  will  may  be  accomplished."  "  Christians  might  avoid  much  trouble 
if  >:liey  would  only  believe  what  they  profess,  viz.  :  that  God  is  able  to  make  them  liappy 
without  anything  but  Himself.  They  imagine  that  if  such  a  dear  friend  were  to  die,  or 
buch  and  such  blessings  to  be  removed,  they  should  be  miserable  ;  whereas  God  can 
make  them  a  thousand  times  happier  without  them.  To  mention  my  own  case  :  God 
lias  been  depriving  me  of  one  blessing  after  another  ;  but  as  ever>'  one  was  removed,  H« 
has  come  in  and  filled  up  its  place  ;  and  now,  when  I  am  a  cripple  and  not  able  tn  move, 
I  am  happier  than  ever  I  was  in  my  life  before  or  ever  expected  to  be  ;  and  if  I  had  be 
Ueved  this  twenty  years  ago,  I  might  have  been  spared  mucli  anxiety  " 


70  THE    LIFE   OF   MRS.  PRENTISS. 

Here  are  some  passages  from  two  leaves  of  her  journal 
which  escaped  the  flames.  They  touch  upon  another  side  oi 
her  life  at  this  period. 

December  i,  1841. — I  went  to  the  sewing-circle  this  afternoon 
and  had  such  a  stupid  time  !  Enough  gossip  and  nonsense 
was  talked  to  make  one  sick,  and  I'm  sure  it  wasn't  the  fault  of 
my  head  that  my  hair  didn't  stand  on  end.  Now  my  mother 
is  a  very  sensible  mother,  but  when  she  urges  me  into  company 
and  exhorts  me  to  be  more  social,  she  runs  the  risk  of  having 
me  become  as  silly  as  the  rest  of  'em.  She  fears  I  may  be 
harmed  by  reading,  studying  and  staying  with  her,  but  heaven 
forbid  I  should  find  things  in  books  worse  than  things  out  ol 
them.  I  can't  think  the  girls  are  the  silly  creatures  they  make 
themselves  appear.  They  want  an  aim  in  life,  some  worthy 
object ;  give  them  that,  and  the  good  and  excellent  which,  1 
am  sure,  lies  hidden  in  their  nature,  will  develop  itself  at  once. 
When  the  young  men  rushed  in  and  the  girls  began  looking 
unutterable  things,  I  rushed  out  and  came  home.  I  can't 
and  won't  talk  nonsense  and  flirt  with  those  boys  !  Oh,  what 
is  it  I  do  want  ?  Somebody  who  feels  as  I  feel  and  thinks  as  I 
think  ;  but  where  shall  I  find  the  somebody? 

7///. — Frolicked  with  G.,  rushed  up  stairs  with  a  glass-lamp 
in  my  hand,  went  full  tilt  against  the  door,  smashed  the  lamp, 
got  the  oil  on  my  dress,  on  two  carpets,  besides  spattering  the 
wall.  First  consequence,  a  horrible  smell  of  lamp-oil  ;  Second, 
jjrrcat  quakings,  shakings,  and  wonderings  what  my  ma  would 
say  when  she  came  home  ;  Third,  ablutions,  groanings,  iron- 
ings ;  Fourth,  a  story  for  the  Companion  long  enough  to  pay  for 
that  'ere  old  lamp.  Letting  alone  that,  I've  been  a  very  good 
girl  to-day  ;  studied,  made  a  call,  went  to  see  H.  R.  with  books, 
cakes,  apples,  and  what's  more,  my  precious  tongue  wherewith 
I  discoursed  to  licr. 

i.j///.— P,usy  all  day.  Carried  a  basket  full  of  "wittles"  to 
old  Ma'am  liurns,  heard  an  original  account  of  the  deluge  from 
the  poor  woman,  wished  I  was  as  near  heaven  as  she  seems  to 
he,  studied,  sewed,  taught  T.  and  E.,  tried  to  be  a  good  girl 
and  didn't  have  the  blues  once. 

20///.— Spent  most  of  the  afternoon  with  Lucy,  who  is  sick. 
She  held  my  hand  in  hers  and  kissed  it  over  and  over,  and  ex- 
pressed so  much  love  and  gratitude  and  interest  in  the  Sunday- 
school  that  I  felt  ashamed. 


PASSING   FROM    GIRLHOOD    INTO   WOMANHOOD.  7 1 

24//^. — Helped  mother  bake  all  the  morning,  studied  in  the 
afternoon,  got  into  a  frolic,  and  went  out  after  dark  with  G.  tc 

shovel  snow,  and  then  paddled  down  to  L 's  with  a  Christ- 

mts-pudding,  whereby  I  got  a  real  backache,  legachc,  neck- 
ache,  and  all-overache,  which  is  just  good  enough  for  me.  1 
was  in  the  funniest  state  of  mind  this  afternoon  !  I  guess 
anybody,  who  had  seen  me,  would  have  thought  so  ! 

25///,  Saturday. — Got  up  early  and  ran  down  to  Sally  John- 
son's with  a  big  pudding,  consequence  whereof  a  horrible  pain 
in  my  side.  I  don't  care,  though.  I  do  love  to  carry  puddings 
to  good  old  grannies. 

Jan.  I,  1842. — Began  the  New  Year  by  going  to  see  Lucy, 
fainting,  tumbling  down  flat  on  the  floor  and  scaring  every- 
body half  out  of  their  wits.  I  don't  think  people  ought  to  like 
me,  on  the  whole,  but  when  they  do,  aint  I  glad  ?  I  wonder  if 
perfectly  honest-hearted  people  want  to  be  loved  better  than 
they  deserve,  as  in  one  sense  I,  with  yet  a  pretty  honest  heart, 
do?  I  wonder  how  other  folks  think,  feel  inside?  Wish  I 
knew  ! 

Most  of  the  year  1842  was  passed  at  home  in  household 
duties,  in  study,  and  in  trying  to  do  good.  Never  had  she 
been  busier,  or  more  helpful  to  her  mother ;  and  never  more  in- 
terested in  the  things  of  God.  It  was  a  year  of  genuine  spiritual 
growth  and  also  of  sharp  discipline.  The  true  ideal  of  the 
Christian  life  revealed  itself  to  her  more  and  more  distinctly, 
while  at  the  same  time  she  had  opportunity  both  to  learn 
and  to  practise  some  of  its  hardest  lessons.  A  few  extracts 
from  letters  to  her  cousin  will  give  an  inkling  of  its  character. 

March  19,  1842.— Sometimes  I  have  thought  my  desire  to 
live  for  my  Saviour  and  to  labor  for  Him  had  increased.  It 
certainly  seems  wonderful  to  me  now  that  I  could  ever  have 
wished  to  die,  as  I  used  to  do,  when  I  had  done  nothing  for  God. 
The  way  of  life  which  appears  most  attractive,  is  that  spent  in 
persevering  and  unwearying  toil  for  Him.  There  was  a  warmth 
and  a  fervency  to  my  religious  feelings  the  first  year  after  my 
true  hope  which  I  do  not  find  now  and  often  sigh  for;  but  I 
think  my  mind  is  more  seriously  determined  for  God  tlian  it 
was  then,  and  that   my  principles  arc  more  fixed.     Slill   I  am 


73  THE    LIFE   OF   MRS.  PRENTISS. 

less  than  t'e  least  of  all I  have  read  not  quite  five  can 

tos  of  Tasi>o.     You  will  think  me  rather  indolent,  but  I  have 
had  a  great  deal  to  do,  which  has  hindered  study  and  reading. 

J/ijj  3*/.— The  Christian  life  was  never  dearer  to  me  thaff  it 
is  now,  l)ut  it  throngs  with  daily  increasing  difficulties.  You, 
vho  have  become  a  believer  in  perfection,  may  say  that  this 
Conflict  is  not  essential,  and  indeed  I  have  been  so  weary,  of 
iaie,  of  struggling  that  I  am  almost  ready  to  fly  to  the  doctrine 
myself.  I  have  certainly  been  made  more  willing  to  seek  knowd- 
edgc  on  this  point  from  the  Holy  Spirit. 

Sf/>f.  30///. — You  speak  of  indulging  unusually,  of  late,  in 
your  natural  vivacity  and  finding  it  prejudicial.  Here  is  a 
point  on  which  I  am  completely  bewildered.  I  find  that  if  for 
a  month  or  two  I  steadily  set  myself  to  the  unw^earied  pursuit 
of  spirituality  of  mind  and  entire  weanedness  from  the  world, 
a  sad  reaction  wi//  follow.  My  efforts  slightly  relax,  I  indulge 
in  mirthful  or  worldly  (in  the  sense  of  not  religious)  conversa- 
tion, delight  in  it,  and  find  my  health  and  spirits  better  for  it. 
But  then  my  spiritual  appetites  at  once  become  less  keen,  and 
from  conversation  I  go  to  reading,  from  reading  to  writing,  and 
then  comes  the  question  :  Am  I  not  going  back  ? — and  I  turn 
from  all  to  follow  hard  after  the  Lord.  Is  this  a  part  of  our 
poor  humanity,  above  which  we  can  not  rise  ?  This  is  a  hard 
world  to  live  in  ;  and  it  will  prove  a  trying  one  to  me  or  I  shall 
love  it  dearly.  I  have  had  temptations  during  the  last  six 
months  on  points  where  I  thought  I  stood  so  safely  that  there 
was  no  danger  of  a  fail.  Perhaps  it  is  good  for  us  to  be  allowed 
to  go  to  certain  lengths,  that  we  may  see  what  wonderful  sup- 
plies of  grace  our  Lord  gives  us  every  hour  of  our  lives. 

October  \st.—\  have  had  two  or  three  singular  hours  of  ex- 
citement since  I  left  writing  to  you  last  evening.  If  you  were 
here  I  should  be  glad  to  read  you  a  late  passage  in  my  history 
which  has  come  to  its  crisis  and  is  over  with— thanks  to  Him, 
who  so  wonderfully  guides  me  by  His  counsel.  If  I  ever  saw 
Lhc  hand  of  God  distinctly  held  forth  for  my  help,  I  have  ^een 
r  Ih  re,  ('■.iniiig  in  the  right  time,  in  the  right  way,  «// right. 


PASSING   FROM    GIRLHOOD    INTO    WOMANHOOD.  73 

II. 

Returns  to  Richmond.  Trials  there.  Letters.  IHness.  School  Experiences.  "To  the 
Year  1843."  Glimpses  of  her  daily  Life.  Why  her  Scholars  love  her  so.  Home- 
sick. A  Black  Wedding.  What  a  Wife  should  be.  "A  Presentiment."  Notes 
from  her  Diary. 

In  Novembej  of  this  year,  at  the  urgent  soHcitation  of  Mr. 
Persico,  Miss  Payson  returned  to  Richmond,  and  again  became 
a  teacher  in  his  school.  But  everything  was  now  changed,  and 
that  for  the  worse.  Mr.  Persico,  no  longer  under  the  influence 
of  his  wife,  who  had  fallen  a  prey  to  cruel  disease,  lost  heart, 
fell  heavily  in  debt,  and  became  at  length  hopelessly  insolvent. 
Later,  he  is  said  to  have  been  lost  at  sea  on  his  way  to  Italy. 
The  whole  period  of  Miss  Payson's  second  residence  in  Rich- 
mond was  one  of  sharp  trial  and  disappointment.  But  it 
brought  out  in  a  very  vivid  manner  her  disinterestedness  and 
the  generous  warmth  of  her  sympathies.  At  the  peril  of  her 
health  she  remained  far  into  the  summer  of  1843,  faithfully 
performing  her  duties,  although,  as  she  well  knew,  it  was 
doubtful  if  she  would  receive  any  compensation  for  her  ser- 
vices. As  a  matter  of  fact,  only  a  pittance  of  her  salar>'  was 
ever  paid.  Of  this  second  residence  in  Richmond  no  otlicr 
record  is  needed  than  a  few  extracts  from  letters  written  to  a 
beloved  friend  who  was  passing  the  winter  at  the  South,  and 
whose  name  has  already  been  mentioned. 

A  sentence  in  the  first  of  these  letters  deserves  to  be  noted 
as  affording  a  key  to  one  side  of  her  character,  namely :  '*  the 
depressing  sense  of  inferiority  which  was  born  with  me."  All 
her  earlier  years  were  shadowed  by  this  morbid  feeling :  nor 
was  she  ever  quite  free  from  its  influence.  It  was,  probably, 
at  once  a  cause  and  an  effect  of  the  sensitive  shyness  that 
clung  to  her  to  the  last.  Perhaps,  too,  it  grew  in  part  out  of 
her  irrepressible  craving  for  love,  coupled  with  utter  incn'du- 
lity  about  herself  possessing  the  qualities  which  rendered  her 
so  lovable.  *'It  is  one  of  the  faults  of  my  character,"  ^he 
wrote,  '^  to  fancy  that  nobody  cares  for  me." 

When,  dear  Anna,  I  had  taken  my  last  look  at  the  last  famil 


y^  THE    LIFE   OF    MRS.  I'RENTISS. 

iar  face  in  Portland  (I   fancy  you  know  whose  face  it 
yUimi's.    was)  I  became  quite  as  melancholy  as  I  ever  desire  to 
Rkhmond  ^^)  even  on  the  principle  that  *'by  the  sadness  of  the 
Nov.  26, '  countenance  the  heart  is  made  better."    I  dare  say  you 
'^'''      never  had  a  chance  to  feel,  and  therefore  will  not.  be 
able   to  understand,  the  depressing  sense  of  inferiority  which 
was  born  with  me,  which  grew  with  my  growth  and  strengthen- 
ed with  my  strength,  and  which,  though  somewhat  repressed  of 
late  years,  gets  the  mastery  very  frequently  and  makes  me  be- 
lieve myself  the  most  unlovable  of  beings.     It  was  with  this 
feeling  that  I  left  home  and  journeyed  hither,  wondering  why 
I  was  made,  and  if  anybody  on  earth  will  ever  be  a  bit  the  hap- 
pier for  it,  and  whether  I  shall  ever  learn  where  to  put  myself 
in  the  scale  of  being.     This  is  not  humility,  please  take  notice 
—for  humility  is  contented,  I  think,  with  such  things  as  it  hath. 
When   I   reached  Richmond  last  night,  tired  and  dusty  and 
stupefied,  I  felt  a  good  deal  like  crawling  away  into  some  cran- 
ny and  staying  there  the  rest  of  my  life  ;   but  this  morning, 
when  I  had  remembered  mother's  existence  and  yours  and  that 
of  some  one  or  two  others,  I  felt  more  disposed  to  write  than 
anything  else.     Your  note  was  a  great  comfort  to  me  during 
two  and  a  half  hours  at  Portsmouth,  and  while  on  my  journey. 
I   thought  pages  to  you  in  reply.     How  I  should  love  to  ha\e 
you   here  in   Richmond,  even   if  I  could  only  see  you  once  c. 
month,  or  kiWiL'  only  that  you  were  here  and  never  see  you  ! 
With  many  most  kind  friends  about  me,  I  still  shall  feel  very 
keenly  the  separation  from  you.    There  is  nobody  here  to  whom 
I   can   speak   confidingly,  and   my  hidden  spirit  will  have  to  sit 
with  folded  wings  for  eight  months  to  come.    To  whom  shall  I 
talk  about  you,  pray  ?     On  the  way  hither  I  fell  in  love  with  a 
little  girl  who  also  fell  in  l)ve  with  me,  and  as  1  sat  with  her 
over  our  lonely  firt;  at  Philadelphia  and  in  Washington,  I  could 
not  help  speaking  of  you  now  and  then,  till  at  last  she  suddenly 
looked  up  and  asked  me   if  you   hadn't  a   brother,  which  ques- 
tion effectually  shut  my  mouth.     In  a  religious  point  of  view  I 
am  sadly  off  here.    There  is  a  different  atmosphere  in  the  house 
f.'om    what    there   used    to   be,  and    I   look   forward   with    some 
an.xiety  to  the  luture. 

The  "liitlc   L:irl  "   referred   to   received   soon  after  a  lettei 


PASSING    FROM    GIRLHOOD    INK)    WOMANHOOD.  75 

from  Miss  Payson.  In  enclosing  it  to  a  friend,  more  than 
thirty-seven  years  later,  she  wrote :  "  I  cried  bitterly  when  she 
left  us  for  Richmond.  She  was  out  and  out  good  and  true 
When  my  father  was  taking  leave  of  us,  the  last  night  in 
Washington,  she  proposed  that  as  we  had  enjoyed  -o  much 
together,  we  should  not  separate  without  a  prayer  of  thanks 
and  blessing-seeking,  a  proposal  to  which  my  father  most 
heartily  responded."     Here  is  an  extract  from  the  letter: 

When  I  look  over  my  school-room  I  am  frequently  reminded 
of  you.  for  my  thirty-six  pupils  are,  most  of  them,  about  your 
age      I  have  some  very  lovable  girls  under  my  wing.    I  should 
be  too  happy  if  there  were  no  "unruly  members"  among  these 
good  and  gentle  ones  ;  but  in  the  little  world  where  1  shall 
spend  the  greater  part  of  the  next  eight  months,  as  well  as  m 
the  great  and  busy  one,  which  as  yet  neither  you  or  I  know 
much  about,   I  fancy  there  are  mixtures  of  "the  just  and  the 
uniust,"  of  "the  evil  and  the  good."     We  have  a  very  pleas- 
ant  family  this  year.     The  youngest  (for  I  omit  the  black  baby 
in  the  kitchen)  we  call  Lily.    She  is  my  pet  and  playthmg,  and 
is  quite   as   affectionate   as   you   are.     Then  comes  a  damsel 
named  Beatrice,  who  has  taken  me  upon  trust  just  as  you  did. 
You  may  be  thankful   that  your  parents  are  not  like  hers,  for 
she  is  to  be  educated/^;-  the  world;  music,  French  and  Italian 
crowd  almost  everything  else  out  of  place,  and  as  for  religious 
influences,  she  is  under  them  here   for  the   first  time.     How 
thankful  I  feel  when  I   see  such  cases  as  this,  that  God  gave 
me  pious  parents,  who  taught  me  from  my  very  birth,  that  11  is 
fear  is  the  beginning  of  wisdom  !     My  room-mate  we  call  Kate. 
She  is  pious,  intelligent,  and  very  warm-hearted,  and   I   love 
her  dearly.    She  is  an  orphan-Mrs.  Persico's  daughter.  .... 
I  am  rather  affectionate  by  nature,  if  not  in  practice,  and 
though   I   know  that  nearness  to  the  Friend,  whom   I  hope  J 
have  chosen,  could  make  me  happy  in  any  circumstances,  I  do 
not  pretend  to  be  above  the  desire  for  earthly  friends,  prc^  idcd 
He  sees  fit  to  give  them  to  me.     I  Relieve  m^^  father     .edo 
say  that  we  could  not  love  them  too  much,  if  --  ^^  >  f  ;^ 
Him  the  first  place  in  our  hearts.     Let  us  — est!)  seek  U, 
make  Him  our  all  in  all.     It  is  delight  ul,  in  the  -^^^ll^'^^ 
versitles  and  trials,  to  be  able  to  say  "  There  is  none  upon  earth 


^6  TIIK    LIFE    OF    MRS.    rR?:NTISS. 

that  I  desire  besides  Thee,"  but  it  requires  more  grace,  I  think 
to  be  able  to  use  such  language  when  the  world  is  bright  about 
us.  You  have  known  little  of  sorrow  as  yet,  but  if  ycu  have 
given  vour  whole,  undivided  heart  to  God,  you  will  not  need 
affliction,  or  to  have  your  life  made  so  desolate  that  ''  weariness 
must  loss  you  to  His  breast."  There  is  a  bright  side  to  re- 
ligion, and  I  love  to  see  Christians  walking  in  the  sunshine.  I 
trust  you  have  found  this  out  for  yourself,  and  that  your  hope 
in  Christ  makes  you  happy  in  the  life  that  now  is,  as  well  as 
gives  you  promise  of  blessedness  in  that  which  is  to  come. 

Before  she  had  been  long  in  Richmond  she  was  seized  with 
an  illness  which  caused  her  many  painful,  wearisom.e  days 
and  nights.  Referring  to  this  illness,  in  a  letter  to  Miss 
Prentiss,  she  writes: 

It  is  dull  music  being  sick  away  from  one's  mother,  but  I 
have  a  knack  at  submitting  myself  to  my  fate  ;  so  my  spirit 
was  a  contented  one,  and  I  was  not  for  a  moment  unhappy, 
except  for  the  trouble  which  I  gave  those  who  had  to  nurse  me. 
I  thought  of  you,  at  least  two-thirds  of  the  time.  As  my  little 
pet,  Lily  L.,  said  to  me  last  night,  when  she  had  very  nearly 
squeezed  the  breath  out  of  my  body,  "  I  love  you  a  great  deal 
harder  than  I  hug  you  "  ;  so  I  say  to  you— I  love  you  harder 
than  I  tell,  or  can  tell  you.  A  happy  New-Year  to  you,  dear 
Anna.  How  much  and  how  little  in  those  few  old  words! 
Consider  yourself  kissed  and  good-night. 

The  "New  Year"  was  destined  to  be  a  very  eventful  one 
alike  to  her  friend  and  to  herself.  She  seemed  to  have  a  pre- 
sent inient  of  it,  at  least  in  her  own  case,  as  some  lines  written 
on  a  blank  leaf  of  her  almanac  for  that  year  attest : 

With  mingling  hope  and  trust  and  fear 
1  bid  thee  welcome,  untried  year  ; 
The  paths  before  me  pause  to  view  ; 
Which  shall  I  shun  and  which  pursue?     . 
I  read  my  fate  with  serious  eye ; 
I  see  dear  hopes  and  treasures  fly, 
nehold  thee  on  thy  opening  wing 
Now  grief,  now  joy,  now  sorrow  bring. 
God  grant  me  grace  my  course  to  run 
With  one  blest  prayer~///j-  will  be  done. 


PASSING   FROM    GIRLHOOD    INTO   WOMANHOOD.  Jl 

A  little  journal  kept  by  her  during  the  following  months 
gives  bright  glimpses  of  her  daily  life.  The  entries  are  ver^' 
brief,  but  they  show  that  while  devoted  to  the  school,  she  alsa 
spent  a  good  deal  of  time  among  her  books,  kept  up  a  lively 
correspondence  with  absent  friends,  and  contributed  her  fuU 
share  to  the  entertainment  of  the  household  by  *•'  holding  ;oi 
rees  "  in  her  room,  ''reading  to  the  girls,"  writing  stories  foi 
them,  and  helping  to  ''play  goose"  and  other  games. 

Thanks  to  the  Father  of  his  Country  for  choosing  to  be  born 
in  Virginia  !  for  it  orives  us  a  holiday,  and  I  can  write 

To  Miss  ^     ,  ^   °,  Tr  -,         ,       , 

Anna  s.  to  you,  dearest  of  Annas.  You  don  t  know  how  de- 
lUrhmond,  lighted  I  was  to  get  your  long-watched-for  letter 
Feb.  22,  You  very  kindly  express  the  wish  that  you  could  bear 
some  of  my  school  drudgery  with  me.  I  would  not 
give  you  that,  but  you  should  have  love  from  some  of  these 
warm-hearted  damsels,  which  would  make  you  happy  even  in 
the  midst  of  toil  and  vexation.  I  can't  think  what  makes  my 
scholars  love  me  so.  I'm  sure  it  is  a  gift  for  which  I  should  be 
grateful,  as  coming  from  the  same  source  with  all  the  other 
blessings  which  are  about  me.  I  believe  my  way  of  governing 
is  a  more  fatiguing  one  than  that  of  scolding,  fretting,  and  pun- 
ishing. There  is  a  little  bit  of  a  tie  between  each  of  these 
hearts  and  mine— and  the  least  mistake  on  my  part  severs  it 
forever ;  so  I  have  to  be  exceedingly  careful  what  I  do  and  say. 
This  keeps  me  in  a  constant  state  of  excitement  and  makes  my 
pulse  lly  rather  faster  than,  as  a  pulse  arrived  at  years  of  dis- 
cretion, it  ought  to  do.  I  come  out  of  school  so  happy,  though 
half  tired  to  death,  wishing  I  were  better,  and  hoping  I  shall 
become  so ;  for  the  more  my  scholars  love  me,  the  more  I  am 
ashamed  that  I  am  not  the  pink  of  perfection  they  seem  to 
fancy  me. 

Evening. — I  have  just  come  up  here  to  my  lonely  room 
(which,  if  I  hadn't  the  happiest  kind  of  a  heart  in  the  world, 
would  look  right  gloomy)  and  have  read  for  the  third  time 
youi'  dear,  good  letter,  and  all  I  wish  is  that  I  could  tell  you 
how  I  love  you,  and  how  angry  I  am  with  myself  that  I  did  not 
know  and  love  you  sooner.  It  seems  so  odd  that  we  should 
have  been  born  and  "  raised  "  so  near  each  other  and  yet  apart. 
Vou  say  you  are  a  believer  in  destiny.     So  am  I— particularly 


78  Tin:  I.IFI-:  of  mrs.  PTiEXTiss. 

in  affairs  of  the  heart;  and  I  hope  that  we  are  made  friends 
now  for  something  more  than  the  satisfaction  which  we  find  in 
loving.  I  am  in  danger  of  forgetting  that  I  am  to  stay  in  this 
world  only  a  little  while  and  \.\i&n  go  home.  Will  you  help  me 
to  bear  it  in  mind  ?  .  .  .  .  How  must  the  "Pilgrim's  Progress  " 
interest  a  mind  that  has  never  learned  the  whole  book  by  rote 
in  childhood.  I  have  often  wished  I  could  read  it  as  a  first-told 
tale,  and  so  I  wish  about  the  xiv.  of  John  and  some  other  chap- 
ters in  the  Bible. 

Your  incidental  mention  that  you  have  family  prayers  every 
evening  produced  a  thousand  strange  sensations  in  my  mind. 
I  hardly  know  why.  Did  I  ever  tell  you  howl  love  and  admire 
the  new  Bishop  Johns?  and  how  if  I  am  a  "good  Presby- 
terian," as  they  say  here,  I  go  to  hear  him  whenever  and 
wherever  he  preaches.  I  don't  think  him  a^§-;r^z^  man,  but  he 
has  that  sincerity  and  truthfulness  of  manner  w^hich  win  your 
love  at  once.'  ....  What  nice  times  you  must  have  studying 
German  !  I  dreamed  the  night  I  read  your  account  of  it  that  I 
was  with  you,  and  that  you  said  I  w^as  as  stupid  as  an  owl.  I 
have  the  queerest  mind  somehow.  It  won't  work  like  those  of 
other  people,  but  goes  the  farthest  way  round  when  it  wants  to 
go  home,  and  I  never  could  do  anything  with  it  but  just  let  it 
have  its  own  way,  and  live  the  longer.  They  are  having  a  nice 
time  down  in  the  parlor  worshipping  Miss  Ford,  the  light  and 
sunshine  of  the  house,  who  leaves  to-morrow  for  Natchez,  and 
I  am  going  down  to  help  them.     So,  good-night. 

Since  I  wrote  you  last  we  have  all  had  a  good  deal  to  put  our 
patience  and   philosophy  and   faith  to  the  test,  and  I 

To  the       ^  ^    ,  ,  ^  1  / 

same,  must  own  that  I  have  been  for  some  weeks  about  as 
A[ni^.  n,i(;,,,-,ifortablc  as  mortal  damsel  could  be.  Every- 
thing went  wrong  with  Mr.  Persico,  and  his  gloom  extended  to 
all  of  us.  I  never  spent  such  melancholy  weeks  in  my  life,  and 
became  so  homesick  that  I  could  hardly  drag  myself  into 
school.  In  the  midst  of  it,  however,  I  made  fun  for  the  rest,  as 
believe  I  should  do  in  a  dungeon  ;  and  now.it  is  all  over,  I 
look  back  and  laugh  still. 

•  The  Ri^ht  Rev.  John  J.ihiis,  Bishop  of  the  Protestant  Episcopal  Church  of  Virginia, 
was  a  man  of  .ijiostolic  simplicity  and  zeal,  and  universally  beloved.  An  almost  ideal 
friendship  existed  between  him  arid  Dr.  Charles  Hod{je,  of  Princeton.  Dear,  blessed,  ola 
Joint,  Dr.  \\.  Cvdlotl  him  when  he  was  seventy-nine  years  old.  See  Life  of  Dr.  Hudge», 
pp.  364-56.>     Pisliup  \)hns  dieil  in  1S76. 


PASSING   FROM    GIRLHOOD    INTO   WOMANHOOD.  79 

We  had  a  black  wedding — a  very  black  one — in  my  school- 
room the  other  night ;  our  cook  having  decided  to  take  to  her- 
self a  lord  and  master.  It  was  the  funniest  affair  I  evei  saw. 
Such  comical  dresses  !  such  heaps  of  cake,  wine,  coffee,  and 
candy  !  such  kissings  and  huggings  !  The  man  who  performed 
the  ceremony  prayed  that  they  might  obey  each  other ^  wherein  I 
think  lie  showed  his  originality  and  good  sense,  too.  Then  he 
held  a  book  upsidj  down  and  pretended  to  read,  dear  knows 
what !  but  the  Professor — that  is  to  say,  Mrs.  P. — laughed  so 
loud  when  he  said,  "  Will  you  take  this  7w-man  to  be  your  wed- 
ded husband V  that  we  all  joined  in  full  chorus,  whereupon  the 
poor  priest  (who  was  only  the  sexton  of  St.  James')  was  so  con- 
fused that  he  married  them  over  twice.  I  never  saw  a  couple 
in  their  station  in  life  provided  with  a  tenth  part  of  the  luxu- 
ries with  which  they  abounded.  We  worked  all  day  Saturday 
in  the  kitchen,  making  and  icing  cake  for  them,  and  a  nice 
frolic  we  had  of  it,  too.  Do  you  love  babies  ?  We  have  a  black 
one  in  the  lot  whom  I  pet  for  want  of  something  on  which  to 
expend  my  love. 

When  I  find  anything  that  will  interest  the  whole  family,  I 
read  it  aloud  for  general  edification.  The  girls  persuaded  me 
into  writing  a  story  to  read  to  them,  and  locked  me  into  my 
room  till  it  was  done.  It  was  the  first  love-story  I  ever  wrote 
for  hitherto  1  have  not  known  enough  about  such  things  to  be 
able  to  do  it.  This  reminds  me  that  you  asked  if  I  intend  for- 
getting you  after  I  am  married.  I  have  no  sort  of  idea  what  I 
shall  do,  provided  I  ever  marry.  But  if  I  ever  fall  in  love  I 
dare  say  I  shall  do  it  so  madly  and  absorbingly  as  to  become, 
in  a  measure  and  for  a  season,  forgetful  of  everything  and 
everybody  else.  Still,  though  I  hate  professions,  I  don't  see 
how  I  can  ever  cease  to  love  you,  whatever  else  I  forget  or  neg- 
lect. There  is  a  restlessness  in  my  affection  for  you  that  I 
don't  understand — a  half  wish  to  avoid  enjoyment  now,  that  I 
may  in  some  future  time  share  it  with  you.  And  yet  I  have  a 
pjesentiment-that  we  may  have  sympathy  in  trials  of  which  I 
now  know  nothing. 

I  am  ashamed  of  myself,  of  late,  that  these  subjects  of  love 
and  matrimony  find  a  place  in  my  thoughts  which  I  never  have 
been  in  the  habit  of  giving  them,  but  people  here  talk  of  little 
else  and  I  am  borne  on  with  the  current.     I  think  that  to  givt 


8o  THE    LIFK   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

nappincss  in  married  life  a  woman  should  possess  oceans  of 
sclf-sacriticiiig  love  and  I,  for  one,  haven't  half  of  that  self-for- 
getting  spirit  wliicli  I  think  essential. 

I  am  glad  you  like  the  "  Christian  Year,"  and  I  see  you  are 
quite  an  Episcopalian.  Well,  if  you  arc  like  the  good  old  En- 
glish divines,  nobody  can  find  fault  with  your  choice.  Mr, 
I'ersico  was  brought  up  a  Catholic  but  professes  to  be  a  noth^ 
ingarian  now.  For  myself,  this  only  I  know  that  I  earnestly 
wish  all  the  tendencies  of  my  heart  to  be  heavenward,  and  I 
believe  that  the  sincere  inquirer  after  truth  will  be  guided  by 
the  Infinite  Mind.  And  so  on  that  faith  I  venture  myself  and 
feel  safe  as  a  child  may  feel,  who  holds  his  father's  hand.  Life 
seems  full  of  mysteries  to  me  of  late — and  I  am  tempted  to 
strange  thoughtfulness  in  the  midst  of  its  gayest  scenes. 

How  true  was  the  ''presentiment  "  described  in  this  letter, 
will  appear  in  her  correspondence  with  the  same  friend  more 
than  a  quarter  of  a  century  later. 

I  believe  you  and  I  were  intended  to  know  each  other  bet- 

To  ittna  ^^^-     I  have  found  a  certain  something  in  you  that  I 

^.  Pri-ntiss,  have  been  wantins:  all  my  life.     While  I  wish  3'ou  to 

June  I,    know  me  just  as  I  am,  faults  and  all,  I  can  t  bear  to 

*^-^'  think  of  ever  seeing  anything  but  the  good  and  the 
beautiful  in  your  character,  dear  Anna,  and  I  believe  my  heart 
would  break  outright  should  I  find  you  to  be  otherwise  than 
just  that  which  I  imagine  you  are.  I  don't  know  why  I  am 
saying  this  ;  but  I  have  learned  more  of  the  world  during  the 
last  year  than  in  any  previous  half  dozen  of  my  life,  and  the 
result  is  dissatisfaction  and  alarm  at  the  things  I  see  about  me. 
I  wish  I  could  always  live,  as  I  have  hitherto  done,  under  the 

shelter  of  my  mother's  wing I  ought  to  ask  your  pardon 

for  writing  in  this  horrid  style,  but  I  was  born  to  do  things  by 
steam,  I  believe,  and  can't  do  them  moderately.  As  I  write  to, 
so  I  love  you,  dear  Anna,  with  all  my  interests  and  energies 
tending  to  that  one  point.  I  was  amused  the  other  day  with  a 
young  lady  who  came  and  sat  on  my  bed  when  I  was  sick  (for 
1  am  just  getting  well  from  a  quite  serious  illness),  and  after 
some  half  dozen  sighs,  wished  she  were  Anna  Prentiss  that  she 
might  be  loved  as  intensely  as  she  desired.     This  is  a  round- 


PASSING   FROM    GIRLHOOD    INK)    WOMANHOOD. 


81 


about  way  of  saying  how  very  dear  you  are  to  me.  What  chat- 
ter-boxes girls  are  !  I  wonder  how  many  times  I've  stopped  to 
say  "My  dear,  don't  talk  so  much"— for  I  am  writing  in  school 

June  27///.— Mr.  brought  "The  Home"  to  me  and   I 

!iave  laughed  and  cried  over  it  to  my  heart's  content.  Out  of 
pure  self-love,  because  they  said  she  was  like  me,  I  liked  poor 
Petra  with  the  big  nose,  best  of  the  bunch— though,  to  be  sure, 
they  liken  me  to  somebody  or  other  in  every  book  we  read 
till  I  begin  to  think  myself  quite  a  bundle  of  contradic- 
tions. I  have  a  thousand  and  one  things  to  say  to  you,  but  I 
wonder  if  as  soon  as  I  see  you  I  shall  straightway  turn  into  a 
poker,  and  play  the  stiffy,  as  I  always  do  when  I  have  been 
separated  from  my  friends.  I  am  writing  in  a  little  bit  of  a  den 
which,  by  a  new  arrangement,  I  have  all  to  myself.  What  if 
there's  no  table  here  and  I  have  to  write  upon  the  bureau,  sit- 
ting on  one  foot  in  a  chair  and  stretching  upwards  to  reach  my 
paper  like  a  monkey  ?  What  do  I  care  ?  I  am  writing  to  you, 
and  your  spirit,  invoked  v.^hen  I  took  possession  of  the  premises, 
comes  here  sometimes  just  between  daylight  and  dark,  and 
talks  to  me  till  I  am  ready  to  put  forth  my  hand  to  find  yours. 
Oh!  Anna,  you  must  be  everything  that  is  pure  and  good, 
through  to  the  very  depths  of  your  heart,  that  mine  may  not 
ache  in  finding  it  has  loved  only  an  imaginary  being.  Not  that 
I  expect  you  to  be  perfect— for  I  shouldn't  love  you  if  you  were 
immaculate— but  pure  in  aim  and  intention  and  desire,  which  I 
believe  you  to  be. 

29///.- Do  you  want  to  know  what  mischief  I've  just  been 

at.?     There  lay  poor  Miss ,  alias  "Weaky"  as  we  call  her 

taking  her  siesta  in  the  most  innocent  manner  imaginable,  with 
a  babe-in-the-wood  kind  of  air,  which  proved  so  highly  attrac- 
tive that  I  could  do  no  less  than  pick  her  up  in  my  arms  and 
pop  her  (I  don't  know  but  it  was  //^-^^  first),  right  into  the  bath- 
ing-tub which  happened  to  be  filled  with  fresh  cold  water. 
Poor,  good  little  Weaky  !  There  she  sits  shaking  and  shiver- 
ing and  laughing  with  such  perfect  sweet  humor,  that  I  am 
positively  taking  a  vow  never  to  do  so  again.  Well,  I  had  some- 
thing quite  sentimental  to  say  to  you  when  I  began  writing,  but 
as  the  spirit  moved  me  to  the  above  perpetration  of  nonsense, 
I've  nothing  left  in  me  but  fun,  and  for  that  you've  no  relish, 
have  you  ? 

6 


g2  Tin-:   I.IFE   OF   MRS.    FilKNTlSS. 

I  made  out  to  cry  yesterday  and  thereby  have  so  refreshed 
mv  '^oiil  as  to  be  in  the  best  possible  humor  just  now.     The 
whv  and  wherefore  of  my  tears,  which  by  the  way  I  don't  shed 
once  in  an  age,  was  briefly  the  withdrawal  from  school  of  one 
of  n-v  scholars,  one  who  had  so  attached  herself  to  me  as  to 
have  become  almost  a  part  of  myself,  and  whom  I  had  taught 
to  love  you,  dear  Anna,  that  I  might  have  the  exquisite  satis- 
faction of  talking  about  you  every  day— a  sort  of  sweet  inter- 
lude  between  grammar  and   arithmetic  which   made  the  dull 
hours  of   school   grow  harmonious.     She  had   a   presentiment 
that  her  life  was  to  close  with  our  school  session,  from  which  I 
couldn't  move  her  even  when  her  health  was  good,  and  she 
says  that  she  prays  every  day,  not  that  her  life  may  be  length- 
ened, but  that  she  may  die  before  I  am  gone.     I  am  supersti- 
tious enough  to  feel  that  the  prayer  may  have  its  answer,  now 
that  I  sec  her  drooping  and  fading  away  without  perceptible 
disease.     The  only  time  I  ever  witnessed   the  rite  of  confirma- 
tion was  when   the  hands  of  the  good  bishop  rested  upon  her 
head,  and  no  wonder  if  I  have  half  taken  up  arms  in  defense  of 
this  "laying-on  of  hands,"  out  of  the  abundance  of  my  heart  if 
not  from  the  wisdom  of  my  head.     Well,  I've  lost  my  mirthful 
mood,  speaking  of  her,  and  don't  know  when  it  will  come  again. 
I  have  taken  it  into  my  head  that  you  will  visit  Niagara 
on  your  way  home  from  the  South  and  have  half  a  mind  to  go 
there  myself.     Did  your  brother  bring  home  the  poems  of  R.  M. 
Milnes?     I  half  hope  that  he  did   not,  since  I  want  to  see  you 
enj(\v  them   for  the  first  time,  particularly  a  certain  "  House- 
hold  Brownie  "  story,  with  which  I  fell  in  love  when  President 
Woods  sent  us  the  volume. 

Here  follow  a  few  entries  in  her  diary: 

May  I. — Holiday.  Into  the  country  all  of  us,  white,  black, 
and  gray.  Sue  Empie  devoted  herself  to  me  like  a  lover  and 
sc  did  Sue  Lewis,  so  I  was  not  at  a  loss  for  society.  My  girls 
made  a  bower,  wherein  I  was  ensconced  and  obliged  to  tell 
stories  to  about  forty  listeners  till  my  tongue  ached.  July 
18///.— -Left  Richmond.  Au\;.  2d. —  Left  Reading  for  Philadelphiiu 
5///. — W illiamstown  and  saw  mother,  sister  and  baby.  xdth. — 
President  Hopkins'  splendid  address  before  the  Alumni — alsc 
that  of  Dr.   Robl)ins.      18//-. — Left  Williamstown  and   reached 


PASSING    FROM    GIRLHOOD    INTO    WOMANHOOD.  83 

Nonantum  House  at  night.  Saw  Aunt  Willis,  Julia,  Sarah, 
Ellen,  etc.  22^. — Came  home,  oh  so  very  happy  !  Dear,  good 
home  !  23^. — Callers  all  day,  the  second  of  whom  was  Mr.  P 
There  have  been  nineteen  people  here  and  I'm  tired  !  25//;. — 
What  didiit  I  hear  from  Anna  P.  to-day!  31^/. — Rode  v\iili 
Anna  P.  to  Saccarappa  to  see  Rev.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  H.  B.  Smith- 
took  tea  at  the  P.s  and  went  with  them  to  the  Preparatory 
Lecture.  I  do  nothing  but  go  about  from  place  to  place. 
Sept.  \st. — Just  as  cold  as  cold  could  be  all  day.  Spent  evening 
at  Mrs.  B.'s,  talking  with  Neal  Dow.  9///. — Cold  and  blowy  and 
disagreeable.  Went  to  see  Carrie  H.  Came  home  and  found 
Mr.  P.  here  ;  he  stayed  to  tea — read  us  some  interesting  things 
— told  us  about  Mary  and  William  Howitt.  10///. — Our  church 
was  re-opened  to-day.  Mr.  Dw4ght  preached  in  the  morning 
and  Mr.  Chickering  in  the  afternoon, 

September  nth  she  marked  with  a  white  stone  and  kept 
ever  after  as  one  of  the  chief  festal  days  of  her  life,  but  of  the 
reason  why  there  is  here  no  record.  The  diary  for  the  rest  of 
the  year  is  blank  with  the  exception  of  a  single  leaf  which 
contains  these  sentences: 

"  Celle  qui  a  besoin  d'admirer  ce  qu'elle  aime,  celle,  dont  le 
jugement  est  penetrant,  bien  que  son  imagination  exalte'e,  il 
n'ya  pour  elle  qu'un  objet  dans  I'univers." 

''  Celui  qu'on  aime,  est  le  vengeur  des  fautes  qu'on  a  commis 
sur  cette  terre  ;  la  Divinite  lui  prete  son  pouvoir." 

Mad.  de  Stael. 


III. 

Her  Views  of  Love  and  Courtship.  Vi?it  of  her  Sister  and  Child.  Letters.  Sickncsi 
and  Death  of  Friends.  Ill-IIeallh.  Undergoes  a  Surfjical  Operalion.  iler  Forti- 
tude.    Study  of  German.     Feuelon. 

The  records  of  the  next  year  and  a  half  are  very  abundant, 
in  the  form  of  notes,  letters,  verses  and  journals;  but  they  are 
mostly  of  too  private  a  character  to  furnish  materials  for  this 
narrative,  belon^in^  to  what  she  called  "  the  deep  story  ot  my 


34  nil-:    l-ll'H    <'!•■    M1<S.    PRENTISS. 

heart."  'Ihcy  breathe  the  sweetness  and  sparkle  with  the 
morninL,^  dew  of  the  affections;  and  while  some  of  them  are 
full  of  fun  and  playful  humor,  others  glow  with  all  the  im- 
passioned earnestness  of  her  nature,  and  others  still  w  ith  deep 
rehi^ious  feeling.     She  wrote  : 

My  heart  seems  to  me  somewhat  like  a  very  full  church  at 
the  close  of  the  services— the  great  congregation  of  my  affec- 
tions trying  to  find  their  way  out  and  crow^ding  and  hindering 
each  other  in  the  general  rush  for  the  door.  Don't  you  see 
them— the  young  ones  scampering  first  down  the  aisle,  and  the 
old  and  grave  and  stately  ones  coming  with  proud  dignity  after 
them  ?....!  feel  now  that  "  dans  les  mysteres  de  notre  nature 
aimer,  encore  aimer,  est  ce  qui  nous  est  rest^  de  notre  heritage 
ct-leste,"  and  oh,  how  I  thank  God  for  my  blessed  portion  of 
this  celestial  endowment  ! 

Love  in  a  word  was  to  her,  after  religion,  the  holiest  and 
most  wonderful  reality  of  life ;  and  in  the  presence  of  its 
mysteries  she  was — to  use  her  own  comparison — ''  like  a  child 
standing  upon  the  seashore,  watching  for  the  onward  rush  of 
the  waves,  venturing  himself  close  to  the  water's  edge,  holding 
his  breath  and  wooing  their  approach,  and  then,  as  they  come 
dashing  in,  retreating  with  laughter  and  mock  fear,  only  to 
return  to  tempt  them  anew."  Her  only  solicitude  was  lest 
the  new  interest  should  draw  her  heart  away  from  Him  who 
had  been  its  chief  joy.  In  a  letter  to  her  cousin,  she  touches 
on  this  point : 

You  know  how  by  circumstances  my  affections  have  been 
repressed,  and  now,  having  found  liberty  to  love,  I  am  tempted 
to  seek  my  heaven  in  so  loving.  But,  my  dear  cousin,  there  is 
nothing  worth  having  apart  from  God  ;  I  feel  this  every  day 
more  and  more  and  the  fear  of  satisfying  myself  with  some- 
thing short  of  Him — this  is  my  only  anxiety.  This  drives  me 
to  the  throne  of  His  grace  and  makes  me  refuse  to  be  left  on  a 
moment  to  myself.  I  believe  I  desire  first  of  all  to  love  God 
supremely  and  to  do  something  for  Him,  if  He  spares  my  life 


Earl)'  in   December  her  sister,  Mrs.  Hopkins,  witl 


1   an    m. 


FASSINC;    FROM    CIRl.HOOD    INTO    WOMAXHOOD.  85 

fant  boy,  came  to  Portland  aivl  passed  a  part  of  tlie  winter 
under  tlie  maternal  roof.  The  arrival  of  this  boy— her  moth, 
er's  first  grandchild— was  an  event  in  the  family  history.  Here 
is  her  own  picture  of  the  scene : 

It  was  a  cold  evening-,  and  grandmamma,  who  had  been  sitting  by  the 
firs,  knittino^  and  reading,  had  at  last  let  her  book  fall  from  her  lap.  and  had 
dropped  to  sleep  in  her  chair.  The  four  uncles  sat  around  the  table,  two  ol 
them  playing  chess,  and  two  looking  on,  while  Aunt  Fanny,  with  her  cat  on 
her  knees,  studie.l  German  a  little,  looked  at  the  clock  very  often,  ar.d 
started  at  every  noise. 

"I  hive  said,  all  along,  that  they  wouldn't  come,"  she  cried  at  last. 
"The  clock  has  just  struck  nine,  and  I  am  not  going  to  expect  them  any 
longer.  I  kjicw  Herbert  would  not  let  Laura  undertake  such  a  journey  in 
the  depth  of  winter;  or,  at  any  rate,  that  Laura's  courage  would  fail  at  the 
last  moment." 

She  had  hardly  uttered  these  words,  when  there  was  a  ring  at  the  door- 
bell, then  a  stamping  of  feet  on  the  mat,  to  shake  off  the  snow,  and  in  they 
came,  Lou,  and  Lou's  papa,  and  Lou's  mamma,  bringing  ever  so  much 
fresh,  cold  air  with  them.  Grandmamma  woke  up,  and  rose  to  meet  them 
with  steps  as  lively  as  if  she  were  a  young  girl ;  Aunt  Fanny  tossed  the  cat 
from  her  lap,  and  seized  the  bundle  that  held  the  baby ,  the  four  uncles 
crowded  about  her,  eager  to  get  the  first  peep  at  the  little  wonder.  There 
was  such  a  laughing,  and  such  a  tumult,  that  poor  Lou,  coming  out  of  the 
dark  night  into  the  bright  room,  and  seeing  so  many  strange  faces,  did  not 
know  what  to  think.  When  his  cloaks  and  shawls  and  capes  were  at  last 
pulled  off  by  his  auntie's  eager  hands,  there  came  into  view  a  serious  little 
face,  a  pair  of  bright  eyes,  and  a  head  as  smooth  as  ivory,  on  which  there 
was  not  a  single  hair.  His  sleeves  were  looped  up  with  corals,  and  showed 
his  plump  white  arms,  and  he  sat  up  very  straight,  and  took  a  good  look 
at  everybody. 

"  What  a  perfect  little  beauty  !  "  "  What  sp/endul  tyts  !  "  "  What  a 
lovely  skin  !  "  "  He's  the  perfect  image  of  his  father  !  "  "  Wt'^  exactly  like 
his  mother  !  "  '*  What  a  dear  little  nose  !  "  "  What  fat  little  hands,  full 
of  dimples  !  "  "  Let  me  take  him  !  "  "  Come  to  his  own  grandmamma  I  " 
"Let  his  uncle  toss  him — so  he  will  !  "  "What  does  he  cat?"  "  Ls  he 
tired  ?"  "  Now,  Fanny  !  you've  had  him  ever  since  he  came  ;  he  wants  10 
come  to  me  ;  I  know  he  does  !  " 

These,  and  nobody  knows  how  many  more  exclamations  of  the  sort, 
greeted  the  ears  of  the  little  stranger,  and  were  received  by  him  with  un- 
ruffled gravity. 

"Aunt  Fanny"  devoted  herself  during  the  following  weeks 
to  the  care   of  her  little   nephew.      Her  letters  written  at  the 


86  TIIF.    I.IFK    OF   MRS.    PRENTISS 

time— some  of  them  with  him  in  her  arms— are  full  of  hig 
pretty  ways ;  and  when,  more  than  a  score  ot  years  later,  he 
had  <Tiven  his  young  life  to  his  country  and  was  sleeping  in  a 
soldier's  grave,  his  ''  sayings  and  doings  "  formed  the  subject 
of  one  of  her  most  attractive  juvenile  books. 

A  few  extracts  from  her  letters  will  give  glimpses  of  her 
slate  of  mind  during  this  winter,  and  show  also  how  the 
thoughtful  spirit,  which  from  the  first  tempered  the  excite- 
ments of  her  new  experience,  was  deepened  by  the  loss  of  very 
dear  friends. 

PoRTLAt^D,  Di'cemder  g.  1843. 

Last   evening   I   spent   at   Mrs.  H. 's  with   Abby  and   a 

crowd  of  other  people.  John  Neal  told  me  I  had  a  great  bump 
of  love  of  approbation,  and  conscientiousness  very  large,  and 
self-esteem  hardly  any  ;  and  that  he  hoped  whoever  had  most 
influence  over  me  would  remedy  that  evil.  He  then  went  on  to 
pay  me  the  most  extravagant  compliments,  and  said  I  could 
become  distinguished  in  any  way  T  pleased.  Thinks  I  to  my- 
self, "I  should  like  to  be  the  best  little  wife  in  the  woild,  and 
that's  the  height  of  my  ambition."  Don't  imagine  now  that  I 
believe  all  he  says,  for  he  has  been  saying  just  such  things  to 
me  since  I  was  a  dozen  years  old,  and  I  don't  see  as  I  am  any 
great  things  yet.     Do  you  ? 

/an.  T,d,  1844.— Sister  is  still  here  and  will  stay  with  us  a 
month  or  two  yet.  Her  husband  has  gone  home  to  preach  and 
pray  himself  into  contentment  without  her.  Though  he  w^as 
here  only  a  week,  his  quiet  Christian  excellence  made  us  all 
long  to  grow  better.  It  is  always  the  case  when  he  comes, 
though  he  rather  lives  than  talks  his  religion.  I  never  saw,  as 
far  as  piety  is  concerned,  a  more  perfect  specimen  of  a  man  in 
his  every-day  life. 

Do  you  pra/ for  me  every  night  and  every  morning?  Don't 
forget  how  I  comfort  myself  with  thinking  that  you  every  day 
a>k  for  mc  those  graces  of  the  Spirit  which  I  so  long  for.  In- 
deed, I  have  had  lately  such  heavenward  yearnings  !  .  .  .  . 
Why  do  you  ask  //  I  pray  for  you,  as  if  I  could  love  you  and  /ic/Jt 
praying  for  you  continually  and  always.  I  have  no  light  sense  of 
the  holiness  a  Christian  minister  should  possess.  I  half  wish 
there  were  no  veil  upon  my  heart  on  this  point,  that  you  might 


PASSING    FROM    GIRLHOOD    INTO    WOMANHOOD.  87 

see  how,  from  the  very  first  hour  of  your  return  from  abroad,  my 
interest  in  you  went  hand-in-hand  with  this  looking  iipwaj-d. 

Jan.  22d. — We  have  all  been  saddened  by  the  repeated  trials 
with  which  our  friends  the  Willises  are  visited  this  winter.  Mrs. 
Willis  is  still  very  ill,  and  there  is  no  hope  of  her  recovery  ;  and 
Ellen,  the  pet  of  the  whole  household — the  always  happy,  lovin^r, 
beautiful  young  thing — who  had  been  full  of  deligh.  in  the 
hope  of  becoming  a  mother,  lies  now  at  the  point  of  death  ; 
having  lost  her  infant,  and  with  it  her  bright  anticipations. 
For  fourteen  years  there  had  not  been  a  physician  in  their 
house,  and  you  may  imagine  how  they  are  all  now  taken,  as  it 
were,  by  surprise  by  the  first  break  death  has  threatened  to 
make  in  their  peculiarly  happy  circle.  Our  love  for  ail  the 
family  has  grown  with  our  growth  and  strengthened  with  our 
strength,  and  what  touches  them  we  all  feel. 

Feb.  8///. — How  is  it  that  people  who  have  no  refuge  in  God 
live  through  the  loss  of  those  they  love?  I  am  very  sad  this 
morning,  and  almost  wish  I  had  never  loved  you  or  anybody. 
Last  night  we  heard  of  the  death  of  Julia  Willis'  sister,  and 
this  morning  learn  that  a  dear  little  girl  in  whom  we  all  were 
much  interested,  and  whom  I  saw  on  Saturday  only  slightly 
unwell,  is  taken  away  from  her  parents,  who  have  no  manner 
of  consolation  in  losing  this  only  child.  There  is  a  great  cloud 
throughout  our  house,  and  we  hardly  know  what  to  do  with 
ourselves.  When  I  met  mother  and  sister  yesterday  on  my  re- 
turn from  your  house,  I  sav.  that  something  was  the  matter  of 
which  they  hesitated  to  tell  me  ;  and  of  whom  should  I  natur- 
ally think  but  of  you— you  in  whom  my  life  is  bound  up  ;  and, 
when  mother  finally  came  to  put  her  arms  around  me,  I  suf- 
fered for  the  moment  that  intensity  of  anguish  which  I  should 
feel  in  knowing  that  something  dreadful  had  befallen  you.  She 
told  me,  however,  of  poor  Ellen's  death,  and  I  was  so  lost  in  re- 
covering you  again  that  I  cared  for  nothing  else  all  the  even- 
ing, and  until  this  morning  had  scarcely  thought  of  the  aching, 
aching  hearts  she  has  left  behind.  Her  poor  young  husband, 
v\ho  loved  her  so  tenderly,  is  half-distracted. 

Oh,  I  have  blessed  God  to-day  that  until  He  had  given  me 
a  sure  and  certain  hold  upon  Himself,  He  had  not  suffered  me 
to  love  as  I  love  now  !  It  is  a  mystery  wliich  I  can  not  under- 
stand, how  the  heart  can   live  on   through   the  moment  which 


88  iiii:  i.iKi:  <>r  mrs.  prkntiss. 

rends  it  asunder  froin  that  of  which  it  has  become  a  part,  ex- 
cept t)y  hiding  itself  in  God.  I  have  felt  Ellen's  death  the 
more,  because  she  and  her  husband  were  associated  in  my  mind 
with  you.  I  hardly  know  how  or  why  ;  but  she  told  me  much 
of  the  history  of  her  heart  when  I  saw  her  last  summer  on  my 
way  h  .-me  from  Richmond,  at  the  same  time  that  she  spoke 
much  of  you.  She  had  seen  you  at  our  house  before  you  went 
abroad,  and  seemed  to  have  a  sort  of  presentiment  that  we 
should  love  each  other. 

But  I  ought  to  beg  you  to  forgive  me  for  sending  you  this 
gloomy  page  ;  yet  I  was  restless  and  wanted  to  tell  you  the 
thoughts  that  have  been  in  my  heart  towards  you  to-day — the 
serious  and  saddened  love  with  which  I  love  you,  when  I  think 
of  you  as  one  whom  God  may  take  from  me  at  any  moment.  I 
do  not  know  that  it  is  unwise  to  look  this  truth  in  the  face 
sometimes — for  if  ever  there  was  heart  tempted  to  idolatry,  to 
giving  itself  up  fully,  utterly,  with  perfect  abandonment  of 
every  other  hope  and  interest,  to  an  earthly  love,  so  is  mine 
tempted  now. 

Feb.  13//^. — Mother  is  going  to  Boston  with  sister  on  Satur- 
day, provided  I  am  well  enough  (which  I  mean  to  be),  as  Mrs. 
Willis  has  expressed  a  strong  wish  to  see  her  once  more.  We 
heard  from  them  yesterday  again.  Poor  Ellen's  coffin  was 
placed  just  w^here  she  stood  as  a  bride,  less  than  eight  months 
ago,  and  her  little  infant  rested  on  her  breast.  There  is  rarely 
a  death  so  universally  mourned  as  hers  ;  she  was  the  most  w^in- 
ning  and  attractive  young  creature  I  ever  saw. 

Feb.  2ist. — Are  you  in  earnest?  Are  you  in  earnest?  Are 
you  really  coming  home  in  March  ?  I  am  afraid  to  believe, 
afraid  to  doubt  it.  I  am  crying  and  laughing  and  writing  all 
at  once.     You  would  not  tell   me  so  unless  you  really  were  com- 

ws^  I  know And  you  are  coming  home  !     (How  madly 

my  heart  is  beating  !  lie  still,  w^ill  you  ?)  I  almost  feel  that  you 
a-e  h:rc  and  that  you  look  over  my  shoulder  and  read  while  I 
write.  Are  you  sure  that  you  will  come  ?  Oh,  don't  repent  and 
send  me  another  letter  to  say  that  you  will  wait  till  it  is  pleas- 
antcr  weather  ;  it  is  pleasant  now.  I  walked  out  this  morning, 
and  the  air  was  a  spring  air,  and  gentlemen  go  through  the 
streets  with  their  cloaks  hanging  over  their  arms,  and  there  is 
a  constant   plashing  against   the  windows,  of  water  dripping 


PASSING  FROM   GIRLHOOD   INTO   WOMANHOOD.  89 

down  from  the  melting  snow  ;  yes,  I  verily  believe  that  it  is 
warm,  and  that  the  birds  will  sing  soon — I  do,  upon  my  word 
....  I  wouldn't  have  the  doctor  come  and  feel  my  pulse  thij 
afternoon  for  anything.  He  would  prescribe  fever  powders  or 
fever  drops,  or  something  of  the  sort,  and  bleed  me  and  send 
me  to  bed,  or  to  the  insane  iiospital  ;  I  don't  know  which.  [ 
could  cry,  sing,  dance,  laugh,  all  at  once.  Oh,  that  I  knew 
exactly  when  you  will  be  here — the  day,  the  hour,  the  minute, 
that  I  might  know  to  just  what  point  to  govern  my  impatient 
heart — for  it  would  be  a  pity  to  punish  the  poor  little  thing  too 
severely.  I  have  been  reading  to-day  something  which  delighted 
me  very  much  ;  do  you  remember  a  little  poem  of  Goethe's,  in 
which  an  imprisoned  count  sings  about  the  flower  he  loves 
best,  and  the  rose,  the  lily,  the  pink,  and  the  violet,  each  in  turn 
fancy  themselves  the  objects  of  his  love.'  You  see  I  put  you 
in  the  place  of  the  prisoner  at  the  outset,  and  I  was  to  be  the 
flower  of  his  love,  whatever  it  might  be.  Well,  it  was  the  "  For- 
get-me-not." If  there  were  a  flower  called  the  "Always-loving," 
maybe  I  might  find  out  to  what  order  and  class  I  belong. 
Dear  me  ;  there's  the  old  clock  striking  twelve,  and  I  verily 
meant  to  go  to  bed  at  ten,  so  as  to  sleep  away  as  much  of  the 
time  as  possible  before  your  coming,  but  I  fell  into  a  fit  of  lov- 
ing meditation,  and  forgot  everything  else.  You  should  have 
seen  me  pour  out  tea  to-night !  Why,  the  first  thing  I  knew,  I 
had  poured  it  all  out  into  my  own  cup  till  it  ran  over,  and  half 
filled  the  waiter,  which  is  the  first  time  I  ever  did  such  a  ridicu- 
ous  thing  in  my  life.  But,  dearest,  I  bid  you  good  night,  pray- 
ing you  may  have  sweet  dreams  and  an  inward  promptin^^  to 
write  me  a  long,  long,  blessed  letter,  such  as  shall  make  me 
dance  about  the  house  and  sing. 

Feb.  22d. — Oh,  I  am  frightened  at  myself,  I  am  so  happy  ! 
It  seems  as  if  even  this  whole  folio  would  not  in  the  least  con- 
rey  to  you  the  gladness  with  which  my  heart  is  dancing  and 
jinging  and  making  merry.  The  doctor  seems  quite  satisfied 
with  my  shoulder,  and  says  ^^  li's  first-rate  j"  so  set  your  heart 
at  rest  on  that  point.  I  hope  there'll  be  nobody  within  two 
miles  of  our  meeting.  Suppose  you  stop  in  some  out  of  the 
way  place  just  out  of  town,  and  let  me  trot  out  there  to  see 
you  ?     Oh,  are  you  really  coming? 

'  Das  Elumlcin  Wunderschon.      Lied  des  ge/angenen  Cra/etr,  is  the  title  of  tiie  poem 
Goetlie'=  Samtliche  Werke.     Vol.  I.,  p.  151,  .  » 


^  THE   LIFE   OF  MRS.   PRENTISS. 

I    must  write  a  few  lines  to  tell  you,  my  dear  cousin,  that  1 
am   thinking  of  and   praying  for  you  on  your  birth- 
'^%?archt  day.     I   have  but  one  request  to  offer  either  for  you 
'^^'      or  for  myself,  and  that  is  for  more  love  to  our  Re- 
deemer.    I   bless  God  that  I  have  no  other  want I   do 

not  know  why  it  is,  but  I  never  have  thought  so  much  of  death 
and  of  the  certainty  that  I,  sooner  or  later,  must  die,  as  within 
a  few  months  past.  I  am  not  exactly  superstitious,  but  this 
daily  and  hourly  half-presentiment  that  my  life  will  not  be  a 
long  one,  is  singularly  subduing,  and  seems  to  lay  a  restraining 
hand  upon  future  plans.  I  am  not  sorry,  whatever  may  be  the 
event,  that  it  is  so.  I  dread  clinging  to  this  world  and  seeking 
my  rest  in  it.  I  am  not  afraid  to  die,  or  afraid  that  anything  I 
love  may  be  taken  from  me  ;  I  only  have  this  serious  and 
lh.)ughtful  sense  of  death  upon  my  mind.  You  know  how  we 
have  loved  the  Willis  family,  and  can  imagine  how  w^e  felt  the 
death  of  their  youngest  daughter,  who  was  dear  to  everybody. 
And  Mrs.  Willis  is,  probably,  not  living.  This  has  added  to 
my  previous  feeling  on  the  subject,  which  was,  perhaps,  first 
occasioned  by  the  sudden  and  terrible  loss  of  my  poor  friend 
Mr.  Thatcher,  a  year  ago  this  month.'  God  forbid  I  should 
ever  forget  the  lessons  He  saw  I  needed,  and  dare  to  feel  that 
there  is  a  thing  upon  earth  which  death  may  not  touch.  Oh, 
in  how  many  ways  He  has  sought  to  w^in  my  whole  heart  for 
His  own  I 

March  22d.—\  was  interrupted  last  night  by  the  arrival  of 
G.  L.  P.,  after  his  four  months'  absence  in  Mississippi,  im- 
prc^'cd  in  health,  and  in  looks,  and  in  spirits,  and  quite  as  glad 
to  see  me,  I  believe,  as  even  you,  in  your  goodness  of  heart, 
say  my  lover  ought  to  be.  But  I  will  tell  you  the  truth,  my 
dear  cousin,  I  am  afraid  of  love.  There  is  no  other  medium, 
save  that  of  the  happiness  of  loving  and  being  loved,  by  which 
my  affections  could  be  effectually  turned  from  divine  to  earthier 
tilings.  Am  I  not  then  on  dangerous  ground?  Yet  God  merci- 
fully sIkjws  me  that  it  is  so,  and  when  I  think  how  He  has  saved 
mc  hitherto  through  sharp  temptations,  it  seems  wicked  dis- 
trust of  Him,  not  to  feel  that  He  will  save  me  through  those 
to  come.  I  know  now  there  are  some  of  the  great  lessons  of 
\ife  yet  to  be  learned  ;  I  believe  I  must  suffer  as  long  as  I  have 

'  See  appendix  A,  p.  533. 


PASSING    FROM    CIRLHOOD    INTO    WOMANHOOD.  91 

an  earthly  existence.  Will  not  then  God  mal<e  that  suffering 
but  as  a  blessed  reprover  to  bring  me  nearer  Himself?  1 
hope  so. 

During  the  winter  her  health  had   become  so   much   im 
paired,  that  great  anxiety  was  felt  as  to  the  issue.     In  a  letter 
to  her  friend,  Miss   Ellen  Thurston,  dated  April  20,  i8.^.,  she 
writes  : 

You  remember,  perhaps,  that  on  the  afternoon  you  were  si. 
good  as  to  come  and  spend  with  me,  I  was  making  a  fuss  about 
a  little  thing  on  my  shoulder.  Well,  I  had  at  last  to  have  't 
removed,  and  though  the  operation  was  not  in  itself  very  pain- 
tul,  its  effects  on  my  whole  nervous  system  have  been  most 
powerful.  I  have  lost  all  regular  habits  of  sleep — for  a  week 
I  do  not  know  that  I  slept  two  hours — and  am  ready  to  fly  into 
a  fit  at  the  bare  thought  of  sitting  still  long  enough  to  write  a 
common  letter.  I  have,  however,  the  consolation  of  being 
pitied  and  consoled  with,  as  there's  something  in  the  idea  of 
cutting  at  the  flesh  which  touches  the  heart,  a  thousand  times 
more  than  some  severer  sufferings  would  do.  I  am  getting 
quite  thin  and  weak  upon  it,  and  I  believe  mother  firmly  ex- 
pects me  to  shrink  into  nothing,  though  I  am  a  pretty  bounc- 
ing girl  still. 

Owing  to  some  mishap  the  healing  process  was  entirel} 
thwarted,  and  after  a  very  trying  summer,  the  operation  had 
to  be  repeated.  This  time  it  was  performed  by  that  eminent 
surgeon  and  admirable  Christian  man,  Dr.  John  C.  Warren  of 
Boston,  assisted  by  his  son,  Dr.  J.  M.  W.  Dr.  Warren  told 
Miss  Payson's  friend,  who  had  accompanied  an  invalid  sister 
to  New  York,  that  he  thought  it  would  require  "about  five 
minutes;"  but  it  proved  to  be  much  more  serious  than  he 
had  anticipated.  Miss  Willis,  in  her  letter  from  Geneva  al- 
ready quoted,  thus  refers  to  it : 

My  next  meeting  with  Lizzy  revealed  a  strikinj^  trait  of  her  character, 
Jvhich  hitherto  I  had  had  no  opportunity  of  obser\in,<^ — her  wonderful  foi- 
titude  under  suffering.  I  was  at  the  seashore  with  my  sister  and  family 
when,  her  little  child  being  taken  suddenly  very  ill  in  the  night,  I  went  up 
to  Boston  by  an  early  train  to  bring  down  as  soon  as  possible  our  family 
physician.     On  arriving  at  his  house  I  was  disappointed  at  being  told  thai 


Cy2  THE   LIFE   OF    MRS.    Pi^ENTISS. 

he  could  not  come  at  once,  being  engaged  to  perform  an  operation  that 
morning.  While  waiting  for  the  return  train,  I  called  at  my  father's  office 
and  was  surprised  to  hear  that  Lizzy  was  the  patient.  A  painful  tumor  hnd 
developed  itself  on  the  back  of  her  neck,  and  she  had  come  up  with  her 
mother  tc  Boston  to  consult  Dr.  Warren,  who  had  advised  its  immediate 
removal, 

1  went  at  once  to  see  her.  She  greeted  me  with  even  more  than  her 
usjal  warmth  and  after  stating  in  a  few  words  the  object  of  her  coming  to 
Boston  and  that  she  was  expecting  the  doctors  every  moment,  she  added  : 
"  You  will  stay  with  me,  I  am  sure.  Mother  insists  on  being  present,  but 
she  can  not  bear  it.  She  will  be  sure  to  faint.  If  you  will  promise  to  stay, 
I  ran  persuade  her  to  remain  in  the  next  room."  Seeing  the  distress  in  my 
face  at  the  request,  she  said,  "  I  will  be  very  good.  You  will  have  nothing 
to  do  but  sit  in  the  room,  to  satisfy  mother."  It  v;  is  impossible  to  refuse 
and  I  remained.  There  was  no  chloroform  then  to  give  blessed  unconscious- 
ness of  suffering  and  every  pang  had  to  b:  endured,  but  she  more  than 
kept  her  promise  to  "  be  good."  Not  a  sound  or  a  movement  betrayed 
sufiering.  She  spoke  only  once.  After  the  knife  was  laid  aside  and  the 
threaded  needle  was  passed  through  the  quivering  flesh  to  draw  the  gaping 
edges  of  the  wound  together,  she  asked,  after  the  first  stitch  had  been  com- 
pleted, in  a  low,  almost  calm  tone,  with  only  a  slight  tremulousness,  how  many 
more  were  to  be  taken.  When  the  operation  was  over,  and  the  surgeons 
were  preparing  to  depart,  she  questioned  them  minutely  as  to  the  mark 
which  would  be  left  after  healing.  I  was  surprised  that  she  could  think  of 
it  at  such  a  moment,  knowing  how  little  value  she  had  always  set  on  her 
personal  appearance,  but  her  mother  explained  it  afterward  by  referring  to 
her  betrothal  to  you,  and  the  fear  that  you  would  find  the  scar  disfiguring.' 

Ill  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Stearns,"'  she  herself  writes,  Sept.  6: 

I  had  no  idea  of  the  suffering  which  awr.ited  me.    I  thought 
I   should   get  off  as   I   did  the  first  time.     But  I  have  a  great 

'  Tlie  liorrible  operation  is  over,  Heaven  be  praised  !  It  was  far  more  horrible  than 
we  liad  anticipated.  They  were  an  hour  and  a  quarier,  before  all  was  done.  I  was 
vcr>'  brave  at  first  and  wouldn't  leave  the  room,  but  I  found  myself  so  faint  that  I  feaied 
falling:  and  luid  to  po.  Lizzy  behaved  like  a  heroine  indeed,  so  that  even  the  doctors  ad- 
mired her  fortitude.  She  never  spoke,  but  was  deadly  faint,  so  that  they  were  obliged  to 
lay  Imr  down  that  tlie  dreadful  wound  migfht  bleed  ;  tlien  there  was  an  artery  to  be  taken 
up  and  lied  ;  then  six  stitches  to  be  taken  with  a  great  bif,'  needle.  Most  providentially 
dsat  Julia  Willis  came  in  about  ten  minutes  before  the  doctors  and  though  she  was 

Krealy  distressed,  she  never  faints,  and  stail  till  Lizzy  was  laid  in  bed She  was 

ill^t  like  .1  marble  slatuo,  but  even  more  beautiful,  while  the  blood  stained  her  slioulders 
and  bosom.  You  couldn't  have  looked  on  such  suffering  without  fainting,  man  that  you 
%TQ.—rrovt  a  letter  of  Mrs.  Payson,  dated  Boston,  Sept.  2,  18^4. 

"  Her  friend,  Miss  Prentiss,  had  been  man  led,  in  the  previous  autumn,  to  the  Rev 
lonathan  V.  Stearns,  of  Xewburyport. 


PASSING    FROM    GIRLHOOD    INT(.)    WOMANHOOD.  93 

deal  to  be  thankful  for.  On  Wednesday,  to  my  infinite  sur- 
prise and  gladness,  George  pounced  down  upon  me  from  New 
York,  having  been  quite  cut  to  the  heart  by  the  account  mother 
gave  him.  Everybody  is  so  kind,  and  I  have  had  so  many  let 
tcrs,  and  seen  so  many  sympathising  faces,  and  "dear  Lizzy' 
sounds  s^  sweet  to  my  insatiable  ears  ;  and  yet — and  yet — 1 
would  rather  die  than  live  through  the  forty-eight  hou .i  again 
which  began  on  Monday  morning.  Somebody  must  have 
prayed  for  me,  or  I  never  should  have  got  through. 

An  extract  from  another  of  her  letters,  dated  Portland, 
September  nth,  belongs  here: 

I  must  tell  you,  too,  about  Dr.  Warren  (the  old  one).  When 
mother  asked  him  concerning  the  amount  he  was  to  receive 
from  her  for  his  professional  services,  he  smiled  and  said  :  "  I 
shall  not  charge/^//  much,  and  as  for  Miss  Payson,  when  she  is 
married  and  rich,  she  may  pay  me  and  welcome — but  not  till 
then."  I  told  him  I  never  expected  to  be  rich,  and  he  replied, 
with  what  mother  thought  an  air  of  contentment  that  said  he 
knew  all  about  it:  "Well,  we  can  be  hap|)y  without  riches," 
and  such  a  good,  happy  smile  shone  all  over  his  face  as  I  have 
seldom  been  so  fortunate  as  to  see  in  an  old  man.  As  for  the 
young  one,  he  seemed  as  glad  when  I  was  dressed  on  Sunday 
with  a  clean  frock  and  no  shawl,  as  if  it  were  really  a  matter 
of  consequence  to  him  to  see  his  patients  looking  comfortable 
and  well.  I  am  getting  along  finely  ;  there  is  only  one  spot  on 
my  shoulder  which  is  troublesome,  and  they  ordered  me  on  a 
very  strict  diet  for  that — so  I  am  half-starved  this  blessed  min- 
ute. We  went  to  Newbury  port  on  Monday,  and  stayed  there 
with  Anna  till  yesterday  afternoon.  I  think  the  motion  of  the 
cars  hurt  me  somewhat,  but  by  the  time  you  get  here  I  do  hope 
I  shall  be  quite  w^ell. 

Evening. —  ....  I  have  had  such  happy  thoughts  and 
pi-ayers  to-night  !  You  should  certainly  have  knelt  with  me  in 
my  little  room,  where,  for  the  first  time  a  year  ago  this  even- 
ing, I  asked  God  to  bless  us  j  and  you  too,  perhaps,  then  began 
first  to  pray  for  me.  Oh,  what  a  wonderful  time  it  was  !  .  .  .  . 
I  hope  you  have  prayed  for  me  to-day — I  don't  mean  as  you  al- 
ways do,  but  with  new  prayers  wherewith  to  begin  tlic  new 
year.     God  bless  you  and  love  you  ! 


p4  THF.    I-IFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

But  this  period  was  also  one  of  large  mental  growth.  It 
was  marked  especially  by  two  events  that  had  a  shaping  influ- 
ence  upon  both  her  intellectual  and  religious  character.  One 
was  the  study  of  German.  She  was  acquainted  already  with 
French  and  Italian  ;  she  now  devoted  her  leisure  hours  to  the 
language  and  works  of  Schiller  and  Goethe.  These  opened  to 
her  a  new  world  of  thought  and  beauty.  Her  correspondence 
contains  frequent  allusions  to  the  progress  of  her  German  read- 
ing.    Here  is  one  in  a  letter  to  her  cousin  : 

I  have  read  George  Herbert  a  good  deal  this  winter.  I  have 
also  read  several  of  Schiller's  plays — William  Tell  and  Don 
Carlos  among  the  rest — and  got  a  great  deal  more  excited  over 
them  than  I  have  over  anything  for  a  long  while.  George  has 
a  large  German  library,  but  I  don't  suppose  I  shall  be  much  the 
wiser  for  it,  unless  I  turn  to  studying  theology.  Did  you  read 
in  Goethe's  Wilhelm  Meister,  the  "  Bekenntnisse  einer  schonen 
Seele  "  ?  I  do  think  it  did  my  soul  good  when  I  read  it  last 
July.  The  account  she  gives  of  her  religious  history  reminded 
me  of  mine  in  some  points  very  strongly. 

The  other  incident  was  her  introduction  to  the  writings  of 
Fenelon — an  author  whom,  in  later  years,  she  came  to  regard 
as  an  oracle  of  spiritual  wisdom.  In  the  letter  just  quoted, 
she  writes:  '*  I  am  reading  Fenelon's  '  Maximes  des  Saints,' 
and  many  of  his  ideas  please  me  exceedingly.  Some  of  his 
•  Lettres  Spirituelles '  are  delicious — so  heavenly,  so  child-like 
in  their  spirit."  ' 

'  "  Kxplication  dcs  Maximes  des  Saints  snr  la  Vie  Interieure"  is  the  full  title  of  the 
famous  little  work  first  named.  It  appeared  in  January,  1697.  If  measured  by  the 
storm  it  raised  in  France  and  at  Rome,  or  by  the  attention  it  attracted  throughout  Eu- 
roix-,  its  publication  may  be  said  to  have  been  one  of  the  most  impoilant  thet)logical 
events  f)f  that  day.  The  eloquence  of  Possuet  and  the  power  of  Louis  XIV.  were  t(v 
f:cther  exerted  to  the  utmost  in  order  to  brand  its  illustrious  author  as  a  heretical  Qui- 
Kist ;  and,  tluough  their  almost  frantic  efforts,  it  was  at  last  condemned  in  a  papal  biief. 
But.  for  nil  tliat,  the  little  work  is  full  of  the  noblest  Christian  sentiments.  It  pushes  the 
scK.triiie  :)f  pure  love,  perhaps,  to  a  perilous  extreme,  but  still  an  extreme  that  leans  to  the 
side  of  the  liip^hcst  virtue.  After  its  condemnation  the  Pope,  Innocent  XII.,  wrote  to  the 
trench  prelates,  who  had  been  most  prominent  in  denouncing  Fenelon:  Peccavit  ex- 
cesiu  amuris  divitii,  sed  vos  peccdstis  dc/ectu  amoris  proxiini—i.e.^  "  He  has  erred  bj 
too  much  love  cf  God,  but  ye  have  erred  by  too  litUe  love  of  your  neighbor." 


CHAPTER   IV. 

THE   YOUNG   WIFE  AND    MOTHER. 

1845-1850. 

I. 

Marriage  and  Settlement  in  New  Bedford.     Reminiscences.     Letters.    Birth  of  her  Firsl 
Child.     Death  of  her  Sister-in-Law.     Letters. 

On  the  1 6th  of  April,  1845,  Miss  Payson  was  married  to 
the  Rev.  George  Lewis  Prentiss,  then  just  ordained  as  pastor 
of  the  South  Trinitarian  church  in  New  Bedford,  Mass.  Here 
she  passed  the  next  five  and  a  half  years ;  years  rendered 
memoTable  by  precious  friendships  formed  in  them,  by  the 
birth  of  two  of  her  children,  by  the  death  of  her  mother,  and 
by  other  deep  joys  and  sorrows.  New  Bedford  was  then 
known,  the  world  over,  as  the  most  important  centre  of  the 
whale-fishery.  In  quest  of  the  leviathans  of  the  deep  its  ships 
traversed  all  seas,  from  the  tumbling  icebergs  of  the  Arctic 
Ocean  to  the  Southern  Pacific.  But  it  was  also  known  nearer 
home  for  the  fine  social  qualities  of  its  people.  Many  of  the 
original  settlers  of  the  town  were  Quakers,  and  its  character 
had  been  largely  shaped  by  their  friendly  influence.  Hus- 
bands and  wives,  whether  young  or  old,  called  each  other  ev- 
erywhere by  their  Christian  names,  and  a  charming  simplicity 
marked  the  daily  intercourse  of  life.  Into  this  attractive  so- 
ciety Mrs.  Prentiss  was  at  once  welcomed.  The  Arnold  fam- 
ily in  particular — a  family  representing  alike  the  fricndl}' si)irit, 
the  refinement  and  taste,  the  wealth,  and  the  generous  hospi- 
tality of  the  place — here  deserve  mention.  Their  kindness 
was  unwearied;  flowers  and  fruit  came  often  from  their  splen- 
did  garden   and  greenhouses  ;  and,  in  various  other  wa}'s,  they 

(95) 


96  THi:    I.IFi;    OF    MKS.    PRENTISS. 

contributed    from  the  moment  of  her  coming  to  render  New 
Bedford  a  pleasant  home  to  her. 

But  it  was  in  her  husband's  parish  that  she  found  her  chief 
interest  and  joy.  His  people  at  first  welcomed  her  in  the 
warmest  manner  on  her  sainted  father's  account,  but  they 
soon  learned  to  love  her  for  her  own  sake.  She  early  began 
to  manifest  among  them  that  wonderful  sympathy,  which 
made  her  presence  like  sunshine  in  sick  rooms  and  in  the 
house  of  mourning,  and,  in  later  years,  endeared  her  through 
her  writings  to  so  many  hearts.  While  her  natural  shyness 
and  reserve  caused  her  to  shrink  from  everything  like  public 
ity,  and  even  from  that  leadership  in  the  more  private  activi- 
ties of  the  church  which  properly  belonged  to  her  sex  and  sta- 
tion, any  kind  of  trouble  instantl}  aroused  and  called  into  play 
all  her  energies.  The  sickness  and  death  of  little  children 
wrought  upon  her  w^ith  singular  powder ;  and,  in  ministering 
aid  and  comfort  to  bereaved  mothers,  she  seemed  like  one 
specially  anointed  of  the  Lord  for  this  gentle  ofifice.  Now, 
after  the  lapse  of  more  than  a  third  of  a  century,  there  are 
tliose  in  New  Bedford  and  its  vicinity  who  bless  her  memory, 
as  they  recall  scenes  of  sharp  affliction  cheered  by  her  pres- 
ence and  her  loving  sympathy. 

The  following  reminiscences  by  one  of  her  New  Bedford 
friends,  written  not  long  after  her  death,  belong  here : 

Oh,  ihat  I  had  the  pen  of  a  ready  writer !  How  gladly  would  I  depict 
her  just  as  she  came  to  New  Bedford,  a  youthful  bride  and  our  pastor's 
wife,  more  than  a  third  of  a  century  ago  !  My  remembrances  of  her  are 
still  frrsh  and  ilclightful ;  l)ut  they  have  been  for  so  many  years  silent 
mrmori.-s  that  1  feci  (|uite  unable  fully  to  express  them.  And  yet  I  will  try  to 
j(ivc  you  a  fi-w  simple  details.  Several  things  strike  me  as  I  recall  her  in  those 
d.iys.  Our  early  experiences  in  the  struggle  of  life  had  been  somewhat 
sitnilar  and  this  drew  us  near  to  each  other.  She  was  naturally  very  shy 
and  in  the  presence  of  strangers,  or  of  uncongenial  persons,  her  reserve  was 
almost  painful ;  but  with  her  friends— especially  those  of  her  own  sex— all 
this  vanished  and  she  was  full  of  animated  talk.  Her  conversation  abound- 
ed in  bright,  pointed  sayings,  in  tine  little  touches  of  humor,  in  amusing 
anecd<it(S  and  incidents  of  her  own  experience,  which  she  related  with 
astonishing  ease  and  fluency,  sometimes  also  in  downright  girlish  fun  and 
drollery  ;  and  nil  was  rendered  douWy  attractive  by  her  low,  sweet  woman'? 


THE    YOP.\(;    wipy.     ^^h    MOTHER.  9- 

voice  and  her  mer^.  fitful  laugh.     Yet  these  thin.^s  were  but  the  sparkle  of 
a  very  deep  and  serious  nature.     Even  then  her  religious  character  was  to 
me  wonderful.     She  seethed  always  to  know  just  what  was  prompting  her 
whether  nature  or  grace ;  and  her  perception  of  the  workings  ot  the  tw,') 
pr.ncples  was  like  an  instinct.     While    I,  though   cherishing  a  Christian 
hope,  was  still  struggling  in  bondage  under  the  law,  she  appeared  to  enjoy 
to  the  full  the  glorious  liberty  of  the  children  of  God.     And  when  I  would 
say  to  her  that  I  was  constantly  doing  that  which  I  ought  not  and  leavin- 
undone  so  much  that  I  ought  to  do,  she  would  try  to  comfort  me  and  to 
encourage  me  to  exercise  more  faith  by  responding,  "Oh,  you  don't  know 
what  a  great  smner  I  am  ;  but  Christ's  love  is  greater  still."     There  was  -, 
helpful,  assunng,   sunshiny  influence  about  her  piety  which  I  have  rardy 
seen  or  felt  in  any  other  human  being.     And  almost  daily,  during  all  ,he 
years  of  separation,  I  have  been  conscious  of  this  influence  in  my  own  hT.- 
I  remember  her  as  very  retiring  in  company,  even  among  our  own  peo- 
ple     Put  If  there  were  children  present,  she  would  gather  them  about  her 
and  hold  them  spell-bound  by  her  talk.     Oh,  she  was  a  marvellous  story- 
teller !     How  often  have  I  seen  her  in  the  midst  of  a  little  group,  who  all 
eyes  and  ears,  gazed  into  her  face  and  eagerly  swallowed  every  word,  while 
she,  intent  on  amusing  them,  seemed  quite  unconscious  that  anyborly  else 

was  m  the  room.     Mr.  H used  to  say.  "  How  I  envy  those  children  and 

wish  J  were  one  of  them  ! " 

Mrs.  Prentiss  received  much  attention  from  persons  outside  of  our  con- 
gregation,  and  who,  from  their  position  and  wealth,  were  pretty  exclusive 
in  their  habits.     But  they  could  not  resist  the  attraction  of  her  rare  ^nUs 
and  accomplishments.     New  Bedford   at   that   time,  as  you   know    had  a 
good  deal  of  intellectual  and  social  culture.     This  was  particularly  the  case 
among  the  Unitarians,  whose  minister,  when  you  came  to  us.  was  that  ex- 
cellent and  very  superior  man,  the  Rev.  Ephraim  Peabodv,  D.D.,  afterwards 
of  King's  Chapel  in  Boston.     One  of  the  leading  families  of  his  flock  was 
the  "Arnold   family."  whose  garden  and  grounds  were  then  among  the 
finest  in  the  State  and  at  whose  house  such  men  as  Richard  H.  Dana   the 
poet,  the  late  Professor  Agassiz.  and  others  eminent  for  their  literary' and 
scientific  attainments,   were    often   to  be  seen.     This  whole  family  were 
warmly  attached  to  Mrs.  Prentiss,  and  after  you  left   New  Bedford,  often 
relerred  to  their  acquaintance  with  her  in  the  most  affectionate  manner 
And  I  believe  Mr.  Arnold  and  his  daughter  used  to  visit  vou  in  New  York. 
The  lather,  mother,  daughter,  and  aunt  are  all  gone.     And  what  a  chan-e 
have  all  these  vanished  years  wrought  in  the  South  Trinitarian  society  !  "l 
can  think  ot  only  six  families  then  worshipping  there,  that  are  worshippinj; 
there  now.     But  so  long  as  a  single  one  remains,   the  memory  of  .Mrs! 
Prentiss  will  still  be  precious  in  the  old  church. 

The  story  of  the   New  Bedford  years  may   be  told,  with 
7 


p8  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

slight  additions  here  and  there,  by  Mrs.  Prentiss'  own  pen. 
Most  of  her  letters  to  her  own  family  are  lost ;  but  the  letters 
to  her  husband,  when  occasionally  separated  from  her,  and 
others  to  old  friends,  have  been  preserved  and  afford  an  almost 
continuous  narrative  of  this  period.  A  few  extracts  from 
some  of  those  written  in  1845,  ^^^^^  show  in  what  temper  of 
mind  she  entered  upon  her  new  life.  The  first  is  dated  Port- 
land, January  loth,  just  after  Mr.  Prentiss  received  the  call  to 
New  Bedford : 

I  have  wished  all  along,  beyond  anything  else,  not  so  much 
that  we  might  have  a  pleasant  home,  pleasant  scenery  and 
circumstances,  good  society  and  the  like,  as  that  we  might  have 
good,  holy  influences  about  us,  and  God's  grace  and  love  within 
us.  And  for  you,  dear  George,  I  did  not  so  much  desire  the 
intellectual  and  other  attractions,  about  which  we  have  talked 
sometimes,  as  a  dwelling-place  among  those  whom  you  might 
train  heavenward  or  who  would  not  be  a  hindrance  in  your 
journey  thither.  Through  this  whole  affair  I  know  I  have 
thought  infinitely  more  of  you  than  of  myself.  And  if  you  are 
happy  at  the  North  Pole  shan't  I  be  happy  there  too  ?  I  shall 
be  heartily  thankful  to  see  you  a  pastor  with  a  people  to  love 
you.     Only  I  shall  be  jealous  of  them. 

To  her  friend.  Miss  Thurston,  she  writes  from  New  Bedford, 
April  28th  : 

I  thank  you  with  all  my  heart  for  your  letter  and  for  the 
very  pretty  gift,  which  I  suppose  to  be  the  work  of  your  own 
hands.  I  can  not  tell  you  how  inexpressibly  dear  to  me  are  all 
the  expressions  of  affection  I  have  received  and  am  receiving 
from  old  friends.  We  have  been  here  ten  days,  and  very  happy 
days  they  have  been  to  me,  notwithstanding  I  have  had  to  see 
so  many  strange  faces  and  to  talk  to  so  many  new  people.  And 
l)0th  my  sister  and  Anna'tell  me  that  the  first  months  of  mar- 
ried life  are  succeeded  by  far  happier  ones  still  ;  so  I  shall  go 
on  my  way  rejoicing.  As  to  what  your  brother  says  about  dis- 
appointment, nobody  believes  his  doctrine  better  than  I  do  ; 
but  life  is  as  full  of  blessings  as  it  is  of  disappointments,  I  con- 
ceive, and  if  we  only  know  how.  we  may  often,  out  of  mere 


THE   YOUNG    WIFE    AND    MOTHER.  95 

ivill^  get  the  former  instead  of  the  latter.  I  have  had  some  ex- 
perience of  the  "conflict  and  dismay"  of  this  present  evil 
world  ;  but  then  I  have  also  had  some  of  its  smiles.  Neither 
of  these  ever  made  me  angry  with  this  life,  or  in  love  with  it. 
I  believe  I  am  pretty  cool  and  philosophical,  but  it  won't  do  for 
me  at  this  early  day  to  be  boasting  of  what  is  in  me.  I  shall 
have  to  wait  till  circumstances  bring  it  out.  I  can  only  answer 
for  the  past  and  the  present — the  one  having  been  blessed  and 
gladdened  and  the  other  being  made  happy  and  cheerful  by 
lover  and  husband.  I'll  tell  you  truly,  as  I  promised  to  do,  if 
my  heart  sings  another  tune  on  the  17th  of  April,  1848.  I  only 
hope  I  shall  enter  soberly  and  thankfully  on  my  new  life,  ex- 
pecting sunshine  and  rain,  drought  and  plenty,  heat  and  cold — 
and  adapting  myself  to  alternations  contentedly — but  who 
knows  ?  We  are  boarding  at  a  hotel,  which  is  not  over  pleasant. 
However,  we  have  two  good  rooms  and  have  home  things  about 
us.  I  like  to  sit  at  work  while  Mr.  Prentiss  writes  his  sermons 
and  he  likes  to  have  me— so,  for  the  present,  a  study  can  be 
dispensed  with.  In  a  few  weeks  we  hope  to  get  to  housekeep- 
ing.    I  like  New  Bedford  very  much. 

To  her  husband  she  writes,  June  18  : 

I  can  not  help  writing  you  again,  though  I  did  send  you  a 
letter  last  night.  It  is  a  very  pleasant  morning,  and  I  think  of 
you  all  the  time  and  love  you  with  the  happiest  tears  in  my 
eyes.  I  have  just  been  making  some  nice  crispy  gingerbread 
to  send  Mrs.  H ,  as  she  has  no  appetite,  and  I  thought  any- 
thing from  home  would  taste  good  to  her.  I  hope  this  will 
please  you.  Mother  called  with  me  to  see  her  yesterday.  She 
looks  very  ill.  I  have  no  idea  she  will  ever  get  well.  We  had 
a  nice  time  at  the  garden  last  night.  Mr.  and  Miss  Arnold 
came  out  and  walked  with  us  nearly  an  hour,  though  tea  was 
waiting  for  them,  and  Miss  A.  was  very  particularly  attentive 
to  me  (for  your  dear  sake  !),  and  gave  me  flowers,  beautiful  ones, 
and  spcke  with  much  interest  of  your  sermons.  Oh,  I  am  ready 
to  jump  for  joy,  when  I  think  of  seeing  you  home  again.  Do 
please  be  glad  as  I  am.  I  suppose  your  mother  wants  you  too  ; 
but  then  she  can't  love  you  as  I  do— I'm  sure  she  can't— with 
all  the  children  amo:ig  whom  she  has  to  divide  her  heart.  Give 
my  best  love  to  her  and  Abby.    How  I  wish  I  were  in  Portland 


lOO  THl-:    I.[l  i:    OK    MRS.    PRENTISS. 

helping  you  pack  your  books.  But  I  can't  write  any  more  as 
we  are  going  to  Mrs.  Gibbs'  to  tea.  Mother  is  reading  Hamlet 
in  her  room.     She  is  enjoying  herself  very  much. 

Mrs.  Gibbs,  whose  name  occurs  in  this  letter,  was  one  of 
those  inestimable  friends,  wlio  fulfill  the  office  of  mother,  as  it 
were,  to  the  young  minister's  wife.  She  was  tenderly  attached 
to  Mrs.  Prentiss  and  her  loving-kindness,  which  was  new  every 
morning  and  fresh  every  evening,  ceased  only  with  her  life. 
Her  husband,  the  late  Capt.  Robert  Gibbs,  was  like  her  in  un- 
wearied devotion  to  both  the  pastor  and  the  pastor's  wife. 

The  summer  was  passed  in  getting  settled  in  her  new 
home,  and  receiving  visits  from  old  friends.  Early  in  the 
autumn  she  spent  several  weeks  in  Portland.  After  her  re- 
turn, Nov.  2,  she  writes  to  Miss  Thurston  : 

I  was  in  Portland  after  you  had  left,  and  got  quite  rested 
and  recruited  after  my  summer's  fatigue,  so  that  I  came  home 
with  health  and  strength,  if  not  to  lay  my  hand  to  the  plough, 
to  apply  it  to  the  broom-handle  and  other  articles  of  domestic 
warfare.  Just  what  I  expected  would  befall  me  has  happened- 
I  have  got  immersed  in  the  whirlpool  of  petty  cares  and  con- 
cerns which  swallow  up  so  many  other  and  higher  interests,  and 
talk  as  anxiously  about  good  "help"  and  bad,  as  the  rest  of 
'em  do.  I  sometimes  feel  really  ashamed  of  myself  to  see  how 
virtuously  I  fancy  I  am  spending  my  time,  if  in  the  kitchen, 
and  how  it  seems  to  be  wasted  if  I  venture  to  take  up  a  book. 
I  take  it  that  wives  who  have  no  love  and  enthusiasm  for  their 
husbands  are  more  to  be  pitied  than  blamed  if  they  settle  down 

into  mere  cooks  and  good  managers We  have  had  right 

pleasant  times  since  coming  home  ;  never  pleasanter  than  when, 
for  a  day  or  two,  I  was  without  "help,"  and  my  husband 
ground  coffee  and  drew  water  for  me,  and  thought  everything 
I  made  tasted  good.  One  of  the  deacons  of  our  church — a  very 
old  man — prays  for  me  once  a  week  at  meeting,  especially  that 
my  husband,  and  I  may  be  "mutual  comforts  and  enjoyment; 
of  each  other,"  which  makes  us  laugh  a  little  in  our  sleeve;*., 
even  while  we  say  Amen  in  our  hearts.  We  have  been  reading 
aloud  Mary  Ilowitt's  "Author's  Daughter,"  which  is  a  very 
good  story  indeed— don't  ask  me  if  I  have  read  anything  else 


THE   YOUNG   WIFE   AND    MOTHER.  loi 

My  mind  has  become  a  complete  mummy,  and  therefore  inca- 
pable of  either  receiving  or  originating  a  new  idea.  I  did  wade 
Ihrough  a  sea  of  words  and  nonsense  on  my  way  home  in  the 
;;hape  of  two  works  of  Prof.  Wilson — "  The  Foresters "  and 
**  Margaret  Lindsay" — which  I  fancy  he  wrote  before  he  was 
out  of  his  mother's  arms  or  soon  after  leaving  them.  The  girls 
in  Portland  are  marrying  off  like  all  possessed.  It  reminds  me 
of  a  shovel  full  of  popcorn,  which  the  more  you  watch  it  the 
more  it  won't  pop,  till  at  last  it  all  goes  racketing  off  at  once, 
pop,  pop,  pop  ;  without  your  having  time  to  say  Jack  Robinson 
between. 

My  position  as  wife  of  a  minister  secures  for  me  many  af- 
fectionate attentions,  and  opens  to  me  many  little  channels  ol 
happiness,  which  conspire  to  make  me  feel  contented  and  at 
home  here.  I  do  not  know  how  a  stranger  would  find  New 
Bedford  people,  but  I  am  inclined  to  think  society  is  hard  to 
get  into,  though  its  heart  is  warm  when  you  once  do  get  in 
We  are  very  pleasantly  situated,  and  our  married  life  has  been 
abundantly  blessed,  I  doubt  if  we  could  fail  to  be  contented 
anywhere  if  we  had  each  other  to  love  and  care  for. 

We  went  to  hear  Templeton  sing  last  night.  I  was  perfectly 
charmed  with  his  hunting  song  and  with  some  others,  and  bet- 
ter judges  than  I  were  equally  delighted.  I  had  a  letter  from 
Abby  last  week.  She  is  in  Vicksburg  and  in  fine  spirits,  and 
fast  returning  health. 

Her  letters  during  1846  glow  with  the  sunshine  of  domes- 
tic peace  and  joy.  In  its  earlier  months  her  health  was 
unusually  good  and  she  depicts  her  happiness  as  something 
''  wonderful."  All  the  day  long  her  heart,  she  says,  was  "  run- 
ning over  "  with  a  love  and  delight  she  could  not  begin  to 
express.  But  her  letters  also  show  that  already  she  was  hav 
ing  foretastes  of  that  baptism  of  suffering,  which  was  to  fit 
h«;r  for  doing  her  Master's  work.  In  January  she  revisited 
Portland,  where  she  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  Prof,  and 
Mis.  Hopkins  with  their  little  boy,  and  of  passing  sev^cral 
weeks  in  the  society  of  her  own  and  her  husband's  family. 
But  Portland  had  now  lost  for  her  much  of  its  attraction. 
"  I've  seen  all  the  folks,"  she  wrote,  ''  and  we've  said  about  all 


,02  THE    LIFE   OF    MRS.    PRENTISS. 

weVe  got  to  say  to  each  other,  and  though  I  love  to  be  at 
home,  of  course,  it  is  not  the  home  it  used  to  be  before  you 
had  niadc  such  another  dear,  dear  home  for  me.  Oh,  do  you 
miss  me?  do  you  feel  a  little  bit  sorry  you  let  me  leave  you? 

Do  say,  yes But   I   can't  write,  I  am  so  happy!  I  am 

so  glad  I  am  going  home!"  Early  in  December  her  first 
child  was  born.  Writing  a  few  weeks  later  to  Mrs.  Stearns, 
she  thus  refers  to  this  event : 

What  a  world  of  new  sensations  and  emotions  come  with 
the  first  child  !  I  was  quite  unprepared  for  the  rush  of  strange 
feelings— still  more  so  for  the  saddening  and  chastening  effect. 
Why  should  the  world  seem  more  than  ever  empty  when  one 
has  just  gained  the  treasure  of  a  living  and  darling  child  ? 

The  saddening  effect  in  her  own  case  was  owing  in  part, 
no  doubt,  to  anxiety  occasioned  by  the  fatal  illness  of  her 
husband's  eldest  sister,  to  whom  she  was  tenderly  attached. 
The  following  letter  was  written  under  the  pressure  of  this 
anxiety : 

I  dare  say  the  idea  of  Lizzy  Payson  with  a  baby  seems  quite 
To  Miss  funny  to  you,  as  it  does  to  many  of  the  Portland 
Thurston,  p;irls  ;  but  I  assure  you   it  doesn't  seem  in  the  least 

Xciv  Brd-    ?  ,  ^  -,  1-r  J     T  a  A 

ford,  Jan.  funny  to  me,  but  as  natural  as  life  and  1  may  add, 
31. 1847.  ^^  wonderful,  alm.ost.  She  is  a  nice  little  plump 
creature,  with  a  fine  head  of  dark  hair  which  I  take  some 
comfort  in  brushing  round  a  quill  to  make  it  curl,  and  a  pair 
of  intelligent  eyes,  either  black  or  blue,  nobody  knows  which. 
I  find  the  care  of  her  very  wearing,  and  have  cried  ever  so 
many  times  from  fatigue  and  anxiety,  but  now  I  am  getting  h 
little  better  and  she  pays  me  for  all  I  do.  She  is  a  sweet,  good 
little  thing,  her  cliief  fault  being  a  tendency  to  dissipation  an  t 
sitting  up  late  o'  nights.  The  ladies  of  our  church  have  mad.i 
luT  a  Seautiful  little  wardrobe,  fortunately  for  me. 

I  had  a  lot  of  company  all  summer  my  sister,  her  husban.i 
and  bo)',  Mr.  Stearns  and  Anna,  Mother  Prentiss,  Julia  Willi  *, 
pte.  I  had  also  my  last  visit  from  Abby,  whom  I  little  thought 
then  I  should  never  see  again.  Our  happiness  in  our  little 
one  has  been  checked  by  our  constant  anxiety  with  regard  to 
Abby's  health,   and   it   is  very  hard   now  for  me  to  give  u])  one 


THE   YOUNG   WIFE   AND    MOTHER.  103 

who  has  become  in  every  sense  a  sister,  and  not  even  to  have 
the  privilege  of  bidding  her  farewell.  George  went  down 
about  a  week  since  and  will  remain  till  all  is  over.  I  do  not 
even  know  that  while  I  write  she  is  yet  living.  She  had  only 
one  wish  remaining  and  tliat  was  to  see  George,  and  she  was 
quite  herself  the  day  of  his  arrival,  as  also  the  day  following, 
and  able  to  say  all  she  desired.  Since  then  she  has  been  rather 
unconscious  of  what  was  passing,  and  I  fervently  trust  that  by 
this  time  her  sufferings  are  over  and  that  she  is  where  she 
longed  and  prayed  to  be.'  You  can  have  no  idea  how  alike  are 
the  emotions  occasioned  by  a  birth  and  a  death  in  the  family. 
They  seem  equally  solemn  to  me  and  I  am  full  of  wonder  at 
the  mysterious  new  world  into  which  I  have  been  thrown.  I 
used  to  think  that  the  change  I  saw  in  young,  giddy  girls  when 
they  became  mothers,  was  owing  to  suffering  and  care  wearing 
upon  the  spirits,  but  I  see  now  that  its  true  source  lies  far 
deeper.  My  brother  H.  has  been  married  a  couple  of  months, 
so  I  have  one  sister  more.  I  shall  be  glad  when  they  are  all 
married.  Some  sisters  seem  to  feel  that  their  brothers  are  lost 
to  them  on  their  marriage,  but  if  I  may  judge  by  my  husband, 
there  is  fully  as  much  gain  as  loss.  I  am  sure  no  son  or  brother 
could  be  more  devoted  to  mother  and  sisters  than  he  is.  Of 
course  the  baby  is  his  perfect  comfort  and  delight ;  but  I  need 
not  enlarge  on  this  point,  as  I  suppose  you  have  seen  papas 
with  their  first  babies.  A  great  sucking  of  a  very  small  thumb 
admonishes  me  that  the  little  lady  in  the  crib  meditates  crying 
for  supper,  so  I  must  hurry  off  my  letter. 

Abby  Lewis  Prentiss  died  on  Saturday,  January  30,  1847, 
at  the  age  of  thirty-two.  Long  and  wearisome  sufferings, 
such  as  usually  attend  pulmonary  disease,  preceded  the  final 

*  I  found  dear  Abby  still  alive  and  rejoiced  beyond  expression  to  see  me.  She  had 
had  a  very  feeble  night,  but  brightened  up  towards  noon  and  wiien  I  arrived  seemed 
entirely  like  her  old  self,  smiling  sweetly  and  exclaiming,  "This  is  the  last  blessing  I 
Jesirei'  I  Oh,  how  good  the  Lord  is,  isn't  He  ?"  It  was  very  delightful.  Tlie  doctr)r 
lias  just  been  in  and  he  says  she  may  go  any  instant,  and  yet  ffiay  live  a  day  or  two. 
Mother  is  wonderfully  calm  and  happy,  and  the  house  seems  like  the  very  gate  of  Iieaven. 
.  ...  I  so  wish  you  could  have  seen  Abby's  smile  when  I  entered  lier  room.  And  then 
Bhe  inquired  so  affectionately  for  you  and  baby  :  "Now  tell  me  everything  about  them." 
She  longs  and  prays  to  be  gone.  There  is  something  perfectly  childlike  about  her  ex- 
pressions and  feelings,  especially  toward  mother.  She  can't  bear  to  have  her  leave  the 
room  and  holds  her  hand  a  good  deal  of  the  time.  She  sends  ever  so  much  love."— /fx. 
ttnct  frovi  a  letter^  dated  Fvrtlaud,  jfafiuaiy  27,  1S47. 


104  '^^^^^   ^'^^'^   ^^   ^^^^'    PRENTISS. 

Struggle.  It  was  toward  the  close  of  a  stormy  winter's  day 
that  she  gently  fell  asleep.  A  little  while  before  she  had 
imagined  herself  in  a  ''very  beautiful  region"  which  her 
tongue  in  vain  attempted  to.  describe,  surrounded  by  those 
she  loved.  Among  her  last  half-conscious  utterances  was  the 
name  of  her  brother  Seargent.  The  next  morning  witnessed 
a  scene  of  such  wondrous  splendor  and  loveliness  as  made  the 
presence  of  Death  seem  almost  incredible.  The  snow-fall  and 
mist  and  gloom  had  ceased  ;  and  as  the  sun  rose,  clear  and 
resplendent,  every  visible  object— the  earth,  trees,  houses- 
shone  as  if  enameled  with  gold  and  pearls  and  precious  stones. 
It  was  the  Lord's  day;  and  well  did  the  aspect  of  nature 
symbolise  the  glory  of  Him,  who  is  the  Resurrection  and  the 
Life. 

On  receiving  the  news  of  his  sister's  death,  her  brother 
Seargent,  writing  to  his  mother,  thus  depicted  her  character: 

My  heart  bleeds  to  the  core,  as  I  sit  clown  to  mingle  my  tears  with 
yours,  my  dear,  beloved  mother.  1  can  not  realise  that  it  is  all  over; 
I  hat  I  shall  never  again,  in  this  world,  see  our  dear,  dear  Abby.  Gladly 
would  I  have  given  my  own  life  to  preserve  hers.  But  we  have  consolation, 
even  in  our  extreme  grief;  for  she  was  so  good  that  wc  know  she  is  now 
in  heaven,  and  freed  from  all  care,  unless  it  be  that  her  affectionate  heart 
is  still  troubled  for  us,  whom  she  loved  so  well.  We  can  dwell  with  satis- 
faction, after  we  have  overcome  the  first  sharpness  of  our  grief,  upon  her 
angel-likc  qualities,  which  made  her,  long  before  she  died,  fit  for  the  heaven 

where  she  now  is You  have  lost  the  purest,  noblest,  and  best  of 

daughters;  I,  a  sister,  who  never  to  my  knowledge  did  a  selfish  act  or  ut- 
tered a  selfish  thought.  With  the  exception  of  yourself,  dear  mother,  she 
was,  of  all  our  family  circle,  the  best  prepared  to  enter  her  Father's  house. 

Some  extracts  from  letters  written  at  this  time,  will  show 
the  tenderness  of  Mrs.  Prentiss'  sisterly  love  and  sympathy, 
and  give  a  glimpse  also  of  her  thoughts  and  occupations  as  a 
young  mother. 

If  I  loved  you  less,  my  dear  Anna,  I  could  write  you  twenty 
To  Mrs.  letters  where  I  now  can  hardly  get  courage  to  under- 
atrarns,    take  one.    How  very  dearly  I  do  love  you  I  never  knew 

Netv  Bed-      .,,   .  ,       ,  •'  .      ,     ,  .     , 

ford,  Feb.  till  It  rushed  upon  my  mmd  that  we  might  sometime 
17,  1847.    i^g^  ^,^^  ^g  ^^g  \\:\.VQ,  lost  dear  Abby.     How  mysteri- 
ously your  and   Mary's  and   my  baby  are  given  us  just  at  this 


THE    YOUNG   WIFE    AND    MOTHER.  iqc 

very  time,  when  our  hearts  are  so  sore  that  we  are  almost  afraid 
to  expose  them  to  new  sufferings  by  taking  in  new  objects  ol 
affection  !  But  it  does  seem  to  me  a  great  mercy  that,  try 
ing  as  r :  is  in  many  respects,  these  births  and  this  death  come 
almost  hand  in  hand.  Surely  we  three  young  mothers  have 
learned  lessons  of  life  that  must  influence  us  forever  in  rela- 
tion to  these  little  ones  ! 

I  have  been  like  one  in  the  midst  of  a  great  cloud,  since  the 
birth  of  our  baby,  entirely  unconscious  how  much  I  love  her  , 
but  I  am  just  beginning  to  take  comfort  in  and  feel  sensible 
affection  for  her.  I  long  to  show  the  dear  little  good  creature 
to  )^ou.  But  I  can  hardly  give  up  my  long-cherished  plans  and 
hopes  in  regard  to  Abby's  seeing  and  loving  our  first  child. 
Almost  as  much  as  I  depended  on  the  sympathy  and  affection 
of  my  own  mother  in  relation  to  this  baby,  I  was  depending  on 
Abby's.  But  I  rejoice  that  she  is  where  she  is,  and  would  not 
have  her  back  again  in  this  world  of  sin  and  conflict  and  labor, 
for  a  thousand  times  the  comfort  her  presence  could  give.  But 
you  don't  know  how  I  dread  going  home  next  summer  and  not 
finding  her  there  !  It  was  a  great  mercy  that  you  could  go 
down  again,  dear  Anna.  And  indeed  there  are  manifold  mer- 
cies in  this  affliction — how  many  we  may  never  know,  till  we 
get  home  to  heaven  ourselves  and  find,  perhaps,  that  this  was 
one  of  the  invisible  powers  that  helped  us  on  our  way  thither. 
I  had  a  sweet  little  note  from  your  mother  to-day.  I  would 
give  anything  if  I  could  go  right  home  and  make  her  adopt 
me  as  her  daughter  by  a  new  adoption,  and  be  a  real  blessing 
and  comfort  to  her  in  this  lonely,  dark  time.  Eddy  Hopkins 
calls  my  baby  his.  How  children  want  to  use  the  possessive 
case  in  regard  to  every  object  of  interest ! 

I  find  the  blanket  that  Mrs.  Gibbs  knit  for  me  so  infinitely 
preferable,  from  its  elasticity,  to  common  flannel,  that  I  could 
not  help  knitting  one  for  you.  If  I  say  that  I  have  thought  as 
many  affectionate  thoughts  to  you,  while  knitting  it,  as  it  con- 
tains stitches,  I  fancy  I  speak  nothing  but  truth  and  soberness 
— for  I  love  you  now  with  the  love  I  have  returned  on  my  heart 
from  Abby,  who  no  longer  is  in  want  of  earthly  friends.  Dear 
little  baby  thought  I  was  knitting  for  her  special  pleasure,  for 
her  bright  eyes  would  always  follow  the  needles  as  she  lay 
upon  my  lap,  and  she  would  smile  now  and  then  as  if  thanking 


I06  THE   TJFE   or    MRS.    PRENTISS. 

me  for  mv  trouble.  The  ladies  have  given  her  an  elegant 
cloak,  and  Miss  Arnold  has  just  sent  her  a  little  white  satin 
bonnet  that  was  made  in  England,  and  is  quite  unlike  anything 
I  ever  saw.  Only  to  think,  I  walked  down  to  church  last  Sun- 
dav  and  heard  George  preach  once  more  ! 

March  3^/.— We  could  with  difficulty,  and  by  taking  turns, 
get  through  reading  your  letter— not  only  because  you  so  ac- 
curately describe  our  own  feelings  in  regard  to  dear  Abby,  but 
because  we  feel  so  keenly  for  you.  I  often  detect  myself  think- 
ing, "  Now  I  will  sit  down  and  write  Abby  a  nice  long  letter  "; 
or  imagining  how  she  will  act  when  we  go  home  with  our  baby  ; 
and  as  you  say,  I  dream  about  her  almost  every  night.  I  used 
always  to  dream  of  her  as  suffering  and  dying,  but  now  I  see 
her  just  as  she  was  when  well,  and  hear  her  advising  this  and 
suggesting  that,  just  as  I  did  when  she  was  here  last  summer. 
Life  seems  so  different  now  from  what  it  did  !  It  seems  to  me 
that  my  youth  has  been  touched  by  Abby's  death,  and  that  I  can 
never  be  so  cheerful  and  light-hearted  as  I  have  been.  But, 
dear  Anna,  though  I  doubt  not  this  is  still  more  the  case  with 
you,  and  that  you  see  far  deeper  into  the  realities  of  life  than 
I  do,  we  have  both  the  consolations  that  are  to  be  found  in 
Christ— and  these  will  remain  to  us  when  the  buoyancy  and  the 
youthful  spirit  have  gone  from  our  hearts. 

March  12th. —  ....  I  had  been  reading  a  marriage  sermon 
to  George  from  "  Martyria,"  and  we  were  having  a  nice  conjugat 
talk  just  as  your  little  stranger  was  coming  into  the  world.  G. 
is  so  hurried  and  driven  that  he  can  not  get  a  moment  in  which 
to  write.  He  has  a  funeral  this  afternoon,  that  of  Mrs.  H.,  a 
lady  whom  he  has  visited  for  two  years,  and  a  part,  if  not  all, 
of  that  time  once  a  week.  I  have  made  several  calls  since  I 
wrote  you  last — two  of  them  to  see  babies,  one  of  whom  took 
the  shine  quite  off  of  mine  with  his  great  blue-black  eyes  and 
eyelashes  that  lay  halfway  down  his  cheeks. 

The  latter  part  of  April  she  visited  Portland  ;  while  there 
«;hc  wrote  to  her  husband,  April  27  : 

Just  as  I  had  tlie  baby  to  sleep  and  this  letter  dated,  I  was 
called  down  to  sec  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Dwight  and  their  little  Willie. 
The  baby  woke  before  they  had  finished  their  call,  and  behaved 
as  prettily  and  looked  as  bright  and  lovely  as  heart  could  wish 


THE  YOUNG  WIFE  AXn  MOTHER.  iq; 

Dr.  Dwight  held  her  a  long  time  and  kissed  her  heartily.'  I 
got  your  letter  soon  after  dinner,  and  from  the  haste  and  the 
Je  nc  sais  quoi  with  which  it  was  written,  I  feared  you  were  not 
well.  Alas,  I  am  full  of  love  and  fear.  How  came  you  tou^alk 
to  Dartmouth  to  preach  ?  Wasn't  it  by  far  too  long  a  walk  to 
take  in  one  day .?  I  heard  Dr.  Carruthers  on  Sunday  afternoon 
He  made  the  finest  allusion  to  my  father  I  ever  heard  and 
■mother  thought  of  it  as  I  did.  To-day  I  have  had  a  good 
many  callers— among  the  rest  Deacon  Lincoln.'  When  he  saw 
the  baby  he  said,  "  Oh,  what  a  homely  creature.  Do  tell  if  the 
New  Bedford  babies  are  so  ugly?"  Mrs.  S.,  thinking  him  in 
earnest,  rose  up  in  high  dudgeon  and  said,  "Why,  we  think  her 
beautiful.  Deacon  Lincoln."  ''Well,  I  don't  wonder,"  said  he 
I  expect  she  will  get  measles  and  everything  else,  for  lots  of 
children  come  to  see  her  and  eat  her  up.  Mother,  baby  and  I 
spend  to-morrow  at  your  mother's.  Do  up  a  lot  of  sleeping 
and  grow  fat,  pray  do  !  And  oh,  love  me  and  think  I  am  a 
darling  little  wife,  and  write  me  loving  words  in  youi*  next  let 
ter.  Wednesday. — We  have  a  fine  day  for  going  up  to  you: 
mother's.  And  the  baby  is  bright  as  a  button  and  full  of  fun 
Aren't  you  glad  ? 

We  have  just  been  having  a  little  quiet  Saturday  evening 
To  Mrs.    ^^^^  about  dear  Abby,  as  we  sat  here  before  the  light 
PotTiand,  ^"^  ^^  ^^^  lamps,  and  I  dare  say  I  was  not  the  only  one 
May  22,    who  wishcd  you  here  too.     I  came  up  here  from  my 
^  '^'^'      mother's  on  Monday  morning  and  have  had  a  delight- 
ful week.     I  can  not  begin  to  tell  you  how  glad  I  am  that  we 
are  going  to  make  you  a  little  visit  on  our  way  home.     I  do  so 
want  to  see  you  and  your  children,  and  show  you  our  darling 
little  baby  that  I  can  hardly  wait  till  the  time  comes.     I  sup- 
pose you  have  got  your  little  folks  off  to   bed,  and   so  if  you 
will  take  a  peep  into  the  parlor  here  you  v/ill  see  how  we  are 
all  occupied — mother  in  her  rocking-chair,  with  her  "  specs  "  on 
studying  my  Dewees  on  Children  ;  George  toe  to  toe  with  her 
reading  some  old  German  book,  and  Lina'  curled  upon  tlie  sofa 

-  The  late  Rev.  William  T.  Dwight,  D.D.,  pastor  of  the  Third  Church  in  Portland 
He  was  a  son  of  President  Dwight,  an  accomplished  man,  a  noble  Christian  citizen,  anj 
one  of  the  ablest  preachers  of  his  day.  For  many  years  his  house  almost  adjoined  Mrj 
Paysoii's,  and  both  he  and  Mrs.  Dwight  were  among  her  most  cherished  friends. 

"^  A  devoted  friend  of  her  father's,  one  of  his  deacons,  and  a  genial,  warm-hearted 
good  man. 

"  A  niece  of  her  husband,  a  lovely  cliild,  who  died  a  few  years  later  in  Georgia. 


,08  THE    LIKE   nV    MRS.    TiiENTISS. 

asleep  I  fancy,  while  I  sit  in  the  corner  and  write  ^  ou  f rorc 
dear  Abby's  desk  with  her  pen.  Mercy  and  Sophia  watch  ovei 
the  cradle  in  the  dining-room,  where  mother's  fifteenth  grand- 
child  reposes,  uncons<:ious  of  the  honor  of  sleeping  where  hon 
orables,  reverends,  and  rcverendesses  have  slumbered  before 
ner.  How  strange  it  seems  that  my  baby  is  one  of  this  family 
—bone  of  their  bone,  and  flesh  of  tneir  flesh  !  I  need  not  say 
how  I  miss  dear  Abby,  for  you  will  see  at  once  that  that  which 
was  months  ago  a  reality  to  you,  has  just  become  such  to  me. 
It  pains  me  to  my  heart's  core  to  hear  how  she  suffered.  Dear, 
dear  Abby  !  how  I  did  love  her,  and  how  thankful  I  am  tor  her 
example  to  imitate  and  her  excellencies  to  rejoice  in  !  Your 
uncle  James  Lewis'  spent  last  night  here,  and  this  morning  he 
prayed  a  delightful  prayer,  which  really  softened  my  whole 
soul.  I  do  not  know  when  I  have  had  my  own  wants  so  fer- 
vently expressed,  or  been  more  edified  at  family  worship,  and 
his  allusion  to  Abby  was  very  touching. 

The  following  extracts  from  letters  written  to  her  husband, 
while  he  was  absent  in  Maine,  may  be  thought  by  some  to  go 
a  little  too  much  into  the  trifling  details  of  daily  life  and  feel- 
in<r.  but  do  not  such  details  after  all  form  no  small  part  of  the 
moral  warp  and  woof  of  human  experience? 

I  heard  this  morning  that  old  Mrs.  Kendrick  was  threatened 

with  typhus  fever,  and  went  down    soon  after  break- 

Ausiat'd,   fast  to  see  how  she  did,  and,  as  I  found  Mrs.  Henri- 

o  Y^^v    etta  had  watched  with  her  and  was  looking  all  worn 

Bedford y 

Au:^ust    out,  I  begged  her  to  let  me  have  her  baby  this  aiter- 
^'  '■      noon,  that  she  might  have  a  chance  to  rest ;  so,  after  din- 

'  Rev.  James  Lewis,  a  venerated  elder  and  local  preacher  of  the  Methodist  Episcopal 
Church,  then  nearly  ei},'hty  years  of  age.  He  died  in  1S55,  universally  beloved  and  la- 
mented. He  entered  upon  his  work  in  1800.  During  most  of  those  fifty-five  years  he  was 
wont  to  preach  every  Sabbath,  often  three  times,  rarely  losing  an  appointment  by  sick- 
ness, and  still  more  rarely  by  storms  in  summer  or  winter.  He  lived  in  Gorham,  Maine, 
and  his  labors  were  pretty  equally  divided  among  all  the  towns  within  fifteen  miles  round. 
His  rides  out  and  back,  often  over  the  roughest  roads  or  through  heavy  snows,  averaged, 
probably,  from  fifteen  to  twenty  miles.  It  was  estimated  that  he  had  officiated  at  not 
loi?  than  1,500  funerals,  sometimes  riding  for  the  purpose  forty  miles.  His  funeral  and 
camp-meeting  sermons  included,  he  could  not  have  preached  less  than  from  8,000  to 
9,000  times.  He  never  received  a  dollar  of  compensation  for  his  ministerial  services. 
Though  a  hard-working  farmer,  his  hospitality  to  his  itinerant  brethren  was  unbounded. 
^n  several  towns  of  Cumberland  and  adjoining  counties,  he  was  the  revered  patriarch,  as 
half  a  century  earlier  he  had  been  the  youthful  pioneer  of  Methodism.  When  he  dej>art- 
ed  to  be  with  Christ,  there  was  no  better  man  in  all  the  State  to  follow  after  him. 


THE  YOUNG  WIFE  AND  MOTHER.  lO; 

ner,  Sophia  went  down  and  got  her.  At  first  she  set  up  a  la- 
mentable scream,  but  we  huddled  on  her  cloak  and  put  her  witli 
our  baby  into  the  carriage  and  gave  them  a  ride.  She  is  a  proper 
heavy  baby,  and  my  legs  ache  well  with  trotting  round  the 
streets  after  the  carriage.  Think  of  me  as  often  as  you  can  and 
pray  for  me,  and   I  will  think  of  you  and  pray  for  you  all  the 

time. 

Tuesday  Evening. — You  see  I  am  writing  you  a  sort  of  little 
journal,  as  you  say  you  like  to  know  all  I  do  while  you  are 
away.    Our  sweet  baby  makes  your  absence  far  less  intolerable 

than  it  used  to  be  before  she  came  to  comfort  me I  have 

felt  all  soul  and  eis  if  I  had  no  body,  ever  since  your  precious 
letter  came  this  morning.  I  have  so  pleased  myself  with  im- 
agining how  funny  and  nice  it  would  be  if  I  could  creep  in  un- 
perceived  by  you,  and  hear  your  oration  !  I  long  to  know  how 
you  got  through,  and  what  Mr.  Stearns  and  Mr.  Smith  thought 
of  it.  I  always  pray  for  you  more  when  you  are  away  than  I 
do  when  you  are  at  home,  because  I  know  you  are  interrupted 
and  hindered  about  your  devotions  more  or  less  when  journey- 
.ng.  I  have  had  callers  a  great  part  of  to-day,  among  them 
Mrs.  Leonard,  Mrs.  Gen.  Thompson,  Mrs.  Randall,  and  Capt. 
Clark.i  Capt.  C.  asked  for  nobody  but  the  baby.  The  little 
creature  almost  sprang  into  his  arms.  He  was  much  gratified 
and  held  her  a  long  while,  kissing  and  caressing  her.  I  think 
it  was  pretty  work  tur  you  to  go  to  reading  your  oration  to 
your  mother  and  old  Mrs.  Coe,  when  you  hadn't  read  it  to  me. 
I  felt  a  terrible  pang  of  jealousy  when  I  came  to  that  in  your 
letter.     I  am  going  now  to  call  on  Miss  Arnold. 

Friday,  Sept.  3^/.— Yesterday  forenoon  I  \\2.s  perfectly  wretched. 
It  came  over  me,  as  things  will  in  spite  of  us,  "Suppose  he 
didn't  get  safely  to  Brunswick  !  "  and  for  several  hours  I  could 
not  shake  it  off.  It  had  all  the  power  of  reality,  and  made  me 
so  faint  that  I  could  do  nothing  and  fairly  had  to  go  to  bed.  I 
suppose  it  was  very  silly,  and  if  I  had  not  tried  in  every  way  to 
rise  above  it  might  have  been  even  wicked,  but  it  frightened 

i  One  of  a  number  of  old  whaling  captains  in  her  husband's  coni^rej^ation.  in  whcni 
she  was  interested  greatly.  They  belonged  to  a  class  of  men  sui genn-is-n\^n  who  had 
traversed  all  oceans,  had  visited  many  lands,  and  were  as  remarkable  f.ir  their  jovia. 
urgc-heailed,  social  qualities,  when  at  home,  as  for  their  indomitable  energy,  Yankee 
push,  and  adventurous  seamanship,  when  hunting  the  monsters  of  the  deep  on  the  olhei 
aide  of  the  globe. 


no  THE    TJFE   OF    MRS.    PRENTISS. 

me  to  find  how  much  I  am  under  the  power  of  mere  feeling  and 
fancy.  But  do  not  laugh  at  mc.  Sometimes  I  say  to  myself, 
*'  What  MADNESS  to  love  any  human  being  so  intensely  !  What 
would  become  of  you  if  he  were  snatched  from  you  ? "  and  then 
I  think  that  though  God  justly  denies  us  comfort  and  support 
for  the  future,  and  bids  us  lean  upon  Him  now  and  trust  Him 
for  the  rest,  He  can  give  us  strength  for  the  endurance  of  His 
most  terrible  chastisements  when  their  hour  comes. 

Saturday.— I  am  a  mere  baby  when  I  think  of  your  getting 
sick  in   this  time  of  almost  universal  sickness  and  sorrow  and 

death Yesterday  Mrs.  Gibbs  and  Mrs.  Leonard  took  me, 

with  Sophia  and  baby,  to  the  cemetery,  and  on  a  long  ride  of 
three  hours— all  of  w^hich  was  delightful.  In  the  afternoon 
baby  had  an  ill-turn  which  alarmed  me  excessively,  because  so 
many  children  are  sick,  but  I  gave  her  medicine  and  think  she 
will  soon  be  well  again.  Mrs.  Gibbs  and  Mrs.  Randall  and 
others  sent  me  yesterday  a  dozen  large  peaches,  two  melons,  a 
lot  of  shell-beans  and  tomatoes,  a  dish  of  blackberries  and  some 
fried  corn-cakes — not  an  atom  of  the  whole  of  wdiich  shall  I  touch, 
taste,  handle,  or  smell  ;  so  you  need  not  fear  my  killing  myself 
Mrs.  Capt.  Delano,  where  the  Rev.  Mr.  Brock  from  England 
stayed,  has  just  lost  two  children  after  a  few  days'  illness. 
They  were  buried  in  one  coffin.  Old  Gideon  Howland,  the 
richest  man  here,  is  also  dead.  The  papers  are  full  of  deaths. 
Our  dear  baby  is  nine  months  old  to-day,  and  may  God,  if  He 
sees  best,  spare  her  to  us  as  many  more  ;  and  if  He  does  not,  I 
feel  as  if  I  could  give  her  up  to  Him — but  w^e  don't  know  what 
we  can  do  till  the  time  comes.  I  hear  her  sweet  little  voic(i 
down  stairs  and  it  sounds  happy,  so  I  guess  she  feels  pretty 
omfortable. 

Sabbath  Evening:;. — The  baby  is  better,  and  I  dare  say  it  is  my 
imagination  that  says  she  looks  pale  and  puny.  She  is  now 
asleep  in  your  study,  where  too  I  am  sitting  in  your  chair.  I 
came  down  as  soon  as  I  could  this  morning,  and  have  stayed 
here  all  day.  It  is  so  quiet  and  pleasant  among  your  books  and 
papers,  and  it  was  so  dull  up-stairs  !  I  thought  before  your  let- 
ter came,  while  standing  over  the  green,  grassy  graves  of  Wi/ac 
Read,  Mary  Rodman,  and  Mrs.  Cad  well,'  how  I  should  love  to 
have  dear  Abby  in   such   a  green,  sweet  spot,  where  we  could 

'  Twu  brijjht  girls  and  a  young  mother,  wiio  had  died  not  long  before. 


Till-:    VolJNC.    WIFE    AND    MOTHER.  m 

sometimes  go  together  to  talk  of  her.  I  must  own  I  should 
like  to  be  buried  under  grass  and  trees,  rather  than  cold  stone 
and  heavy  marble.     Should  not  you  ? 


11. 

Birth  of  a  Son.     Death  of  her  Mother.     Her  Grief.     Letters.     Eddy's  Illness  and  hei 
own  Cares.     A  Family  Gathering  at  Newburj'port.     Extracts  from  Eddy's  Journal. 

Passing  over  another  year,  which  w^as  marked  by  no  inci- 
dents requiring  special  mention,  we  come  again  to  a  birth  and 
a  death  in  close  conjunction.  On  the  22d  of  October,  1848, 
her  second  child,  Edward  Payson,  was  born.  On  the  17th  of 
November,  her  mother  died.  Of  the  life  of  this  child  she  her- 
self has  left  a  minute  record,  portions  of  which  will  be  given 
later.  In  a  letter  to  his  sister,  dated  New  Bedford,  Novem- 
ber 2 1st,  her  husband  thus  refers  to  her  mother's  departure: 

We  have  just  received  the  sad  intelligence  of  Motlier  Payson's  death. 
She  passed  away  very  peacefully,  as  if  going  to  sleep,  at  half-past  five  on 
Friday  afternoon.  Dear  Lizzy  was  at  first  quite  overwhelmed,  as  I  knew 
she  would  be— for  her  attachment  to  her  mother  was  uncommonly  tender 
and  devoted ;  but  she  is  now  perfectly  tranquil  and  will  soon,  I  trust,  be 
able  to  think  of  her  irreparable  loss  with  a  melancholy  pleasure  even. 
There  is  much  in  the  case  that  is  peculiarly  fitted  to  produce  a  cheerful 
resignation.  Mrs.  Payson  has  been  a  severe  sufferer ;  and  since  the  break- 
ing up  of  her  home  in  Portland,  she  has  felt,  I  think,  an  increasing  detach- 
ment from  the  world.  I  was  exceedingly  struck  with  this  during  her  visit 
here  last  winter.  She  seemed  to  me  to  be  fast  ripening  for  heaven.  It  is 
such  a  comfort  to  us  that  she  was  able  to  name  our  little  boy  ! ' 

1  Her  sickness  lasted  six  weeks,  dating  from  the  day  of  herbeingentirely  confi'ied  tobed. 
Her  life  was  prolonged  much  beyond  what  her  physicians  or  any  one  else  who  saw  her, 
had  believed  possible.  During  the  last  week  her  sufferings  were  less,  and  she  lay  quiel 
part  of  the  time.  Friday  morning  she  had  an  attack  of  faintness,  in  the  course  of  which 
i-lie  remarked  "  I  am  dying."  She  recovered  and  before  noon  sank  into  a  somnolent  state 
(rom  which  she  never  awoke.  Her  breathing  became  softer  and  fainter  till  it  ceased  at 
h-ilf-past  five  in  the  afternoon.  Oh,  what  a  transition  was  that !  from  pain  and  weari- 
r.^ss  and  woe  to  the  world  of  light !  to  the  presence  of  the  Saviour  !  to  unclouded  blLss 
1  felt,  and  so  I  beheve  did  all  assembled  round  her  bed,  that  it  was  time  for  exultation 
rather  than  grief.  We  could  not  think  of  ourselves,  so  absorbed  were  we  in  contempla- 
tion of  her  happiness.     She  was  able  to  say  scarcely  anything  during  her  sickness,  and 


112  Tin-:  LI1T-:  of  mrs.  prentiss. 

Mis.  Payson  died  in  the  65th  year  of  her  age.  She  was  a 
woman  of  most  attractive  and  admirable  qualities,  full  ol 
cheerful  life  and  energy,  and  a  whole-hearted  disciple  of  Jesus. 
A  few  extracts  from  Mrs.  Prentiss'  letters  will  show  how  deep, 
ly  she  felt  her  loss.     To  her  youngest  brother  she  writes : 

How  gladly  I  would  go,  if  I  could,  to  see  you  all,  and  talk 
over  with  you  the  thousand  things  that  are  filling  our  minds 
and  hearts  !  We  can  not  drain  this  bitter  cup  at  one  draught 
and  then  go  on  our  way  as  though  it  had  never  been.  The 
loss  of  a  mother  is  never  made  up  or  atoned  for  ;  and  ours  was 
such  a  mother  ;  so  peculiar  in  her  devotion  and  tenderness  and 
sympathy  !  I  can  not  mourn  that  her  sorrowful  pilgrimage  is 
over,  can  not  think  for  a  moment  of  wishing  she  were  still  on 
earth,  weeping  and  praying  and  suffering — but  for  myself  and 
for  you  and  for  all  I  mourn  with  hourly  tears.  She  has  sacri- 
ficed herself  for  us. 

To  her  friend,  Miss  Lord,  she  writes,  Jan.  31: 

It  seems  to  me  that  every  day  and  hour  I  miss  my  dear 
mother  more  and  more,  and  I  feel  more  and  more  painfully 
how  much  she  suffered  during  her  last  years  and  months. 
Dear  Louise,  I  thought  I  knew  that  she  could  not  live  long, 
but  I  never  realised  it,  and  even  now  I  keep  trying  to  hope 
that  she  has  not  really  gone.  Just  in  this  very  spot  where  I 
now  sit  writing,  my  dear  mother's  great  easy-chair  used  to  sit, 
and  here,  only  a  year  ago,  she  was  praying  for  and  loving  me. 
O,  if  I  had  only  known  she  was  dying  then,  and  could  have 
talked  with  her  about  heaven  till  il  had  grown  to  seeming  like 
a  home  to  which  she  was  going,  and  whither  I  should  follow  her 

left  not  a  single  message  for  the  absent  children,  or  directions  to  those  who  were  present. 
Her  extreme  weakness,  and  the  distressing  effect  of  every  attempt  to  speak,  made 
her  abandon  all  such  attempts  except  in  answer  to  questions.  But  the  tenor  of  her 
replies  to  all  inquiries  was  uniform,  expressing  entire  acquiescence  in  the  will  of  God, 
confidence  in  Him  through  Christ,  and  a  desire  to  depart  as  soon  as  He  should  permit. 
Tranquillity  and  peace,  unclouded  by  a  single  doubt  or  fear,  seem  to  have  filled  her  mind. 
There  were  several  reasons  which  led  us  to  decide  that  the  interment  should  take  place 
hcie  ;  but  on  the  following  Saturday  a  gentleman  arrived  from  Portland,  sent  by  the 
Second  Parish  to  remove  the  remains  to  tliat  place,  if  we  made  no  objection.  As  we 
made  none,  the  body  was  disinterred  and  taken  to  P.,  my  brother  G.  accompanying  it 
So  that  her  mortal  remains  now  rest  with  those  of  my  dear  father. — Letter  f-rom  Mrs 
Hoj^kins  to  her  aunt  in  New  Haven,  dated  IVilliamstown^  Dec.  i,  1S4S. 


THE  YOUNG  WIFE  AND  MOTHER.  i  j -> 

sooner  or  later!  But  it  is  all  over  and  I  would  not  have  her 
here  again,  if  the  shadow  of  a  wish  could  restore  her  to  us.  I 
only  earnestly  long  to  be  fitting,  day  by  day,  to  meet  her  again 
in  heaven.  God  has  mingled  many  great  mercies  with  this 
affliction,  and  I  do  not  know  that  I  ever  in  my  life  so  felt  the 
delight  of  praying  to  and  thanking  Him.  When  I  begin  to 
pray  I  have  so  much  to  thank  Him  for,  that  I  hardly  know  how 
to  stop.  I  have  always  thought  I  would  not  for  the  universe 
be  left  unchastised— and  now  I  feel  the  smart,  I  still  can  say 
so.  Lotty's  visit  was  a  great  comfort  and  service  to  me,  but  I 
Vi^as  very  selfish  in  talking  to  her  so  much  about  my  own  loss, 
while  she  was  so  great  a  sufferer  under  hers.  Since  she  left  my 
little  boy  has  been  worse  than  ever  and  pined  away  last  week 
very  rapidly.  You  can  form  no  idea,  by  any  description  of  his 
sufferings,  of  what  the  dear  little  creature  has  undergone  since 
his  birth.  I  feel  a  perfect  longing  to  see  Portland  and  mother's 
many  dear  friends  there,  especially  your  mother  and  a  few  like 
her.  I  am  very  tired  as  I  have  written  a  great  part  of  tliis 
with  baby  in  my  lap — so  I  can  write  no  more. 

Dear  little  Eddy  has  found  life  altogether  unkind  thus  far. 
To  Mrs.    ^""^  ^  \\^\'^  had  many  hours  of  heartache  on  his  ac- 

fJ^iTis'q^^""^  '  ^^^  ^  ^^P^  ^^  ^^^y  weather  the  storm  and 
'come  out  safely  yet.  The  doctor  examined  him  all 
over  yesterday,  particularly  his  head,  and  said  he  could  not 
make  him  out  a  sick  child,  but  that  he  thought  his  want  of  flesh 
owing  partly  to  his  sufferings  but  more  to  the  great  loss  of 
sleep  occasioned  by  his  sufferings.  Instead  of  sleeping  twelve 
hours  out  of  the  twenty-four,  he  sleeps  but  about  seven  and 
that  by  means  of  laudanum.  Isn't  it  a  mercy  that  I  have  been 
able  to  bear  so  well  the  fatigue  and  care  and  anxiety  of  these 
four  hard  months?  I  feel  that  I  have  nothing  to  complain  of, 
and  a  great  deal  to  be  thankful  for.  On  the  whole,  notwith- 
standing my  grief  about  my  dear  mother's  loss,  and  my  per- 
plexity and  distress  about  baby,  I  have  had  as  much  real  hap- 
piness this  winter  as  it  is  possible  for  one  to  glean  in  such  un- 
favorable circumstances.  By  far  the  greatest  trial  I  have  to 
contend  with,  is  that  of  losing  all  power  to  control  m}'  time. 
A  little  room  all  of  my  own,  and  a  regular  hour,  morning  and 
night,  all  of  my  own  would  enable  me,  I  think,  to  say,  ^^  Now 
let  life  do  its  worst  !  " 
8 


J, 4  TlIK    LllK    ni-    MRS.    TRENTISS. 

1   am   no  stran-er,  I  assure  you,  to  the  misgivings  you  de 
scribe  in  your  last  letter  ;  I  think  them  the  result  of  the  wish 
without  the  unll  to  be  holy.     We  pray  for  sanctification  and 
then  arc  afraid  God  will  sanctify  us  by  stripping  us  of  our  idols 
and   feel   distressed  lest  we  can  not  have  them  and  Him  too. 
Reading  the  life  of  Madame  Guyon  gave  me  great  pain  and 
anxiety,  I  remember.    I  thought  that  if  such  spiritual  darkness 
and  trial  as  she  was  in  for  many  years,  was  a  necessary  attend- 
ant on  eminent  piety,  I  could  not  summon  courage  to  try  to 
live  such  a  life.     Of  all  the  anguish  in  the  world  there  is  noth- 
ing like  this— the  sense  of  God,  without  the  sense  of  nearness 
to' Him.     I  wish  you  would  always  "think  aloud"  when  you 
write  to  me.     I  long  to  see  you  and  the  children  and  Mr.  S., 
and  so  does  George.     Poor  G.  has  had  a  very  hard  time  of  it 
ever  since   little   Eddy's  birth— so   much   care  and  worry  and 
sleeplessness  and  labor,  and  how  he  is  ever  to  get  any  rest  I 
don't  see.    These  are  the  times  that  try  our  souls.     Let  nobody 
condole  with   me  about   our  bodies.     It   is   the  struggle  to  be 
patient  and  gentle  and  cheerful,  when  pressed  dowm  and  worn 
upon  and  distracted,  that  costs  us  so  much.     I  think  when  I 
have   had   all   my  children,   if  there   is   anything  left  of  me,  I 
shall  write  about  the  "  Battle  of  Life  "  more  eloquently  than 
Dickens  has  done.     I  had  a  pleasant  dream  about  mother  and 
Abby  the  other  night.    They  came  together  to  see  me  and  both 
seemed  so  well  and  so  happy  !     I  i^€\.  perfectly  happy  now,  that 
my  flear  mother  has  gone  home. 
'  I   used  to  think  it  hard  to  be  sick  when  I  had  dear  mother 
hanging  over  me,  doing  all  she  could  for  my  relief, 
\llyn^x%^i  but  it  is  harder  to  be  denied  the  poor  comfort  of  being 
let  alone  and  to  have  to  drag  one's  self  out  of  bed  to 
take  care  of  a  baby.     Mr.  Stearns  must  know  how  to  pity  me, 
ffir  my  real  sick  headaches  are  very  like  his,  and  when  racked 
with  pain,  dizzy,  faint  and  exhausted  with  suffering,  starvation 
and  sleeplessness,  it  is  terrible  to  have  to  walk  the  room  with  a 
crying  child  !     I  thought  as  I  lay,  worn  out  even  to  childish- 
ness,  obliged   for   the   baby's  sake   to  have  a  bright  sunlight 
streaming  into  the  chamber,  and  to  keep  my  eyes  and  ears  on 
the   alert   for  the   same  cause,  how  still  we  used  to  think  the 
house  must  be  left  when  my  father  had  these  headaches  and 
how   mnthcr  busied   herself    all   day  long  about  him,  and  how 


THE  YOUNG  WIFE  AND  MOTHER.  1 15 

nice  his  little  plate  of  hot  steak  used  to  look,  as  he  sat  up  to 
eat  it  when  the  sickness  had  gone — and  how  I  ^m  suffering 
here  all  alone  with  nobody  to  give  me  even  a  look  of  encour- 
agement. George  was  out  of  town  on  my  sickest  day.  When  he 
was  at  home  he  did  everything  in  the  world  he  could  do  to 
keep  the  children  still,  but  here  they  must  be  and  I  must 
direct  about  every  trifle  and  have  them  on  the  bed  with  me.  I 
am  getting  desperate  and  feel  disposed  to  run  furiously  in  the 
traces  till  I  drop  dead  on  the  way.  Don't  think  me  very  wicked 
for  saying  so.  I  am  jaded  in  soul  and  body  and  hardly  know 
what  I   do  want.     If  T.  comes,  George,  at  all  events,  will  get 

relief  and  that  will  take  a  burden  from  my  mind I  want 

Lina  to  come  this  summer.  There  is  a  splendid  swing  on  iron 
hooks  under  a  tree,  at  the  house  we  are  going  to  move  into. 
Won't  that  be  nice  for  Jeanie  and  Mary's  other  children,  if  they 
come  ?  I  wish  I  had  a  little  fortune,  not  for  myself  but  to 
gather  my  "  folks  "  together  with.  I  shall  not  write  you,  my 
dear,  another  complaining  letter  ;  do  excuse  this. 

This  letter  shows  the  extremity  of  her  trouble ;  but  it  is  a 
picture,  merely.  The  reality  was  something  beyond  descrip- 
tion ;  only  young  mothers,  who  know  it  by  experience,  can 
understand  its  full  meaning.  Now,  however,  the  storm  for 
a  while  abated.  The  young  relative,  whose  loving  devotion 
had  ministered  to  the  comfort  of  her  dying  mother,  came  to 
her  own  relief  and  passed  the  next  six  months  at  New  Bed- 
ford, helping  take  care  of  Eddy.  In  the  course  of  the  spring, 
too,  his  worst  symptoms  disappeared  and  hope  took  the  place 
of  fear  and  despondency.  Referring  to  this  period,  his  mother 
writes  in  Eddy's  journal: 

On  the  Saturday  succeeding  his  birth,  we  heard  of  my  dear 
mother's  serious  illness,  and,  when  he  was  about  three  weeks 
old,  of  her  death.  We  were  not  surprised  that  his  health  suf- 
1  r?red  from  the  shock  it  thus  received.  He  began  at  once  to  be 
affected  with  distressing  colic,  which  gave  him  no  rest  day  or 
night.  His  father  used  to  call  him  a  "little  martyr,"  and  such 
indeed  he  was  for  many  long,  tedious  months.  On  the  i6th  of 
February,  the  doctor  came  and  spent  two  hours  in  carefully  in- 
vestigating his  case.     He  said  it  was  a  most  trying  condition  of 


Ij6  the   life   of    MRS.    PRENTISS. 

things,  and  he  would  gladly  do  something  to  relieve  me,  as  he 
thought   I  had  been   through   "  enough  to  kill  ten  men:'  .... 
When    Eddy  was  about  eight    months  old,   the  doctor  deter- 
mined to  discontinue  the  use  of  opiates.     He  was  now  a  fine, 
healthy  baby,  bright-eyed  and  beautiful,  and  his  colic  was  re- 
ducing itself  to  certain  seasons  on  each  day,  instead  of  occupy- 
ing the  whole  day  and  night  as  heretofore.     We  went  through 
fire  and  water  almost  in  trying  to  procure  for  him  natural  sleep. 
We  swung  him  in  blankets,  wheeled  him  in  little  carts,  walked 
the  room  with  him  by  the  hour,  etc.,  etc.,  but  it  w^as  w^onderful 
how  little  sleep  he  obtained  after  all.     He  always  looked  wide 
awake  and  as  if  he  did  not  need  sleep.     Flis  eyes  had  gradually 
become  black,  and  when,  after  a  day  of  fatigue  and  care  with 
him  he  would  at  last  close  them,  and  we  would  flatter  ourselves 
that  now  we  too  should  snatcli  a  little  rest,  we  would  see  them 
shining  upon  us  in  the  most  amusing  manner  with  an  expres- 
sion of  content  and  even  merriment.     About  this  time  he  was 
l-)aptized.     I  well  remember  how  in  his  father's  study,  and  be- 
fore taking  him  to  church,  we  gave  him  to  God.     He  was  very 
good  while  his  papa  was  performing  the  ceremony,  and  looked 
so  bright  and  so  well,  that  many  who  had  never  seen  him  in  his 
state  of  feebleness,  found  it  hard  to  believe  he  had  been  aught 
save  a  vigorous  and  healthy  child.     My  own  health  was  now  so 
broken  down  by  long  sleeplessness  and  fatigue,  that  it  became 
necessary  for  me  to  leave  home  for  a    season.     Dr.   Mayhew 
promised   to    run    in  every  day  to  see  that  all  went  well  with 
Eddy.      His  auntie  was    more  than  willing  to  take  this   care 
uj^on  herself,  and  many  of  our  neighbors  offered  to  go  often  to 
sec  liim,  promising  to  do  everything  for  his  safety  and  comfort 
if  I  would  only  go.     Not  aware  how  miserable  a  state  I  w^as  in, 
I   resolved  to   be  absent   only  one  week,  but  was   away  for  a 
whole  month. 

A  part  of  the  month,  with  her  husband  and  little  daugh- 
ter, she  passed  at  Ncwburyport.  His  brother,  S.  S.  Prentiss 
— wliose  name  was  then  renowned  all  over  the  land  as  an  ora- 
tor and  patriot— had  come  North  for  the  last  time,  bringing 
his  wife  and  chiUlrcn  with  him.  It  was  a  never-to-be-forgotten 
family  gathering  under  the  aged  mother's  roof. 

On  my  retiiin  (she  continues  in  Eddy's  journal)  I  found  him 


TIIK    VOUNG   WIFK    AXI.)    MOTHER.  117 

looking  finely.  He  had  had  an  ill-turn  owing- to  teethini^  which 
they  had  kept  from  me,  but  had  recovered  from  it  and  looked 
really  beautiful.  His  father  and  uncle  S.  S.  had  been  to  see 
him  once  during  our  vacation,  and  we  were  now  expecting 
them  again  with  his  Aunt  Mary  and  her  three  children  and  his 
giandmother.  We  depended  a  great  deal  on  seeing  Eddy  and 
Una  together,  as  she  was  his  tiviii  cousin  and  only  a  few  hours 
older  than  he.  But  on  the  very  evening  of  their  arrival  he  was 
taken  sick,  and,  although  they  all  saw  him  that  night  looking 
like  himself,  by  the  next  morning  he  had  changed  sadly.  He 
grew  ill  and  lost  flesh  and  strength  very  fast,  and  no  remedies 
seemed  to  have  the  least  effect  on  his  disorder,  which  was  one 
induced  by  teething For  myself  I  did  not  believe  any- 
thing could  now  save  my  precious  baby,  and  had  given  him  to 
God  so  unreservedly,  that  I  was  not  conscious  of  even  a  wish 
for  his  life When  at  last  w^e  saw  evident  tokens  of  re- 
turning health  and  strength,  we  felt  that  we  received  him  a  sec- 
ond time  as  from  the  grave.  To  me  he  never  seemed  the  same 
child.  My  darling  Eddy  was  lost  to  me  and  another — and yei 
the  same — filled  his  place.  I  often  said  afterward  that  a  little 
stranger  was  running  about  my  nursery  ,  not  mine,  but  God's. 
Indeed,  I  can't  describe  the  peculiar  feelings  with  which  I  al- 
ways regarded  him  after  this  sickness,  nor  how  the  thought 
constantly  met  me,  "He  is  not  mine;  he  is  God's."  Every 
night  I  used  to  thank  Him  for  sparing  him  to  me  one  dav 
longer  ;  thus  truly  enjoying  him  a  day  at  a  time. 

An  extract  from  a  letter  to  Miss  Lord,  written  on  the  anni- 
versary of  her  mother's  death,  will  close  the  account  of  this 
year. 

If  I  were  in  Portland  now,  I  should  go  right  down  to  sec 
you  I  feel  just  like  having  a  dear,  old-fashioned  talk  with 
you.  I  was  thinking  how  many  times  death  had  entered  that 
old  Richmond  circle  of  which  you  and  I  once  formed  a  part ; 
Mrs  Persico,  Susan,  Charlotte  Ford,  Kate  Kennedy,  and  now 
our  own  dearest  Lotty,  all  gone.  I  can  not  tell  you  how  much 
I  miss  and  grieve  for  Lotty."  I  can  not  be  thankful  enough 
that  I  went  to  Portland  m  the  summer  and  had  that  last  week 

»  The  wife  of  her  brother   Mr.  Henry  M.  I'ayson. 


Il8  THE    LIFE   OF    MRS.    PRENTISS. 

with  her,  nor  for  her  most  precious  visit  here  last  winter 
Whenever  you  think  of  any  little  thing  she  said,  I  want  you  tc 
write  it  down  for  me.  no  matter  whether  it  seems  worth  writ- 
ing  or  not.  I  know  by  experience  how  precious  such  things 
are.  This  is  a  sad  day  to  me.  Indeed,  all  of  this  month  has 
been  so,  recalling  as  it  has  done,  all  I  was  suffering  at  this  time 
last  year,  and  all  my  dear  mother  was  then  suffering.  I  can 
hardly  realise  that  she  has  been  in  heaven  a  whole  year,  and 
that  I  feel  her  loss  as  vividly  as  if  it  were  but  yesterday — in- 
deed, more  so.  I  do  not  feel  that  this  affliction  has  done  me  the 
good  that  it  ought  to  have  done  and  that  I  hoped  it  would.  As 
far  as  I  have  any  excuse  it  lies  in  my  miserable  health.  I  want 
so  much  to  be  more  of  a  Christian  ;  to  live  a  life  of  constant 
devotion.  Do  tell  me,  when  you  write,  if  you  have  such 
tnmbled  thoughts,  and  such  difficulty  in  being  steadfast  and 
unmovable  ?  Oh,  how  I  sigh  for  the  sort  of  life  I  led  in  Rich- 
mond, and  which  was  more  or  less  the  life  of  the  succeeding 
years  at  home  !  My  husband  tries  to  persuade  me  that  the  dif- 
ference is  more  in  my  way  of  life,  and  that  then  being  my  time 
for  contemplation,  now  is  my  time  for  action.  But  I  know, 
mvself,  that  I  have  lost  ground.  You  must  bear  me  in  mind 
when  you  pray,  my  dear  Louise,  for  I  never  had  so  much  need 
of  praying  nor  so  little  time  or  strength  for  it. 


III. 

Further  Extracts  from  Eddy's  Journal.     Ill-health.     Visit  to  Newark.     Death  of  her 
Brother-in-law,  S.  S.  Prentiss.     His  Character.     Removal  to  Newark.     Letters. 

The  record  of  the  new  year  opens  with  this  entry  in 
Eddy's  journal : 

January^  1850. — Eddy  is  now  fourteen  months  old,  has  six 
teeth,  and  walks  well,  but  with  timidity.  He  is,  at  times,  really 
beautiful.  He  is  very  affectionate,  and  will  run  to  meet  me, 
throw  his  little  arms  round  my  neck  and  keep  pat-pat-patting 
me,  with  delight  Miss  Arnold  sent  him,  at  New  Year's,  a 
pretty  ball,  with  which  he  is  highly  pleased.      He  rolls  it  about 


THE    YOUNG    WIFE    AND    MOTHER.  II9 

by  knocking  it  with  a  stick,  and  will  shout  for  joy  when  he  sees 
it  moving.  He  is  crazy  to  give  everybody  something,  and  when 
he  is  brought  down  to  prayers,  hurries  to  get  the  Bible  for  his 
father,  his  little  face  all  smiles  and  exultation,  and  his  body  in 
a  quiver  with  emotion.  He  is  like  lightning  in  all  his  move- 
ments, and  is  never  still  for  an  instant.  It  is  worth  a  good 
deal  to  see  his  face,  it  is  so  brimful  of  life  and  sunshine  and 
gladness. 

Her  letters,  written  during  the  winter  and  spring,  show  how 
in  the  midst  of  bodily  suffering,  depression,  and  sorrow  her 
views  of  life  were  changing  and  her  faith  in  God  growing 
stronger.  Three  of  her  brothers  were  now  in  California,  seek- 
ing their  fortunes  in  the  newly-discovered  gold  mines.  To  one 
of  them  she  writes,  March  loth : 

I  was  delighted  yesterday  by  the  reception  of  your  letter. 
I  do  not  wonder  that  Lotty's  death  affected  you  as  it  did — but 
however  sharp  the  instruments  by  which  these  lessons  come  to 
us,  they  are  full  of  good  when  they  do  come.  As  I  look  back 
to  the  time  w^hen  I  did  not  know  what  death  was  doing  and 
could  do,  I  seem  to  myself  like  a  child  who  has  not  yet  been  to 
school.  The  deaths  of  our  dear  mother  and  of  Lotty  have  taken 
fast  hold  of  me.  Life  is  entirely  changed.  I  do  not  say  this  in  a 
melancholy  or  repining  temper,  for  I  would  not  have  life  ap- 
pear otherwise  than  in  its  true  light.  All  my  sickly,  wicked 
disgust  with  it  has  been  put  to  the  blush  and  driven  away.  I 
see  now  that  to  live  for  God,  whether  one  is  allowed  ability  to 
be  actively  useful  or  not,  is  a  great  thing,  and  that  it  is  a  won- 
derful mercy  to  be  allowed  to  live  and  suffer  even,  if  thereby 
one  can  glorify  Him.  I  desire  to  live  if  it  is  God's  will,  though 
I  confess  heaven  looks  most  attractive  when  either  sin,  sorrow, 
or  sickness  weary  me.  But  I  must  not  go  on  at  this  rate,  for  I 
could  not  in  writing  begin  to  tell  you  how  different  everything 
looks  as  I  advance  into  a  knowledge  of  life  and  see  its  awful 
sorrows  and  sufferings  and  changes  and  know  that  I  am  sub- 
ject to  all  its  laws,  soon  to  take  my  turn  in  its  mysterious  close. 
My  dear  brother,  let  us  learn  by  heart  the  lessons  we  are  learn- 
ing, and  go  in  their  strength  and  wisdom  all  our  days 

Our  children    are   well.     Eddy   has    gone   to   be   weighed    (he 


120  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

weighed  t  .enty-four  pounds).  He  is  a  fine  little  fellow.  1 
have  his  nurse  still,  and  ought  to  be  in  excellent  health,  but  am 
a  nervous  old  thing,  as  skinny  and  bony  as  I  can  be.  I  can  think 
of  nothing  but  birds'  claws  when  I  look  at  my  hands.  But  I 
have  so  much  to  be  thankful  for  in  my  dear  husband  and  my 
r  veet  little  children,  and  love  all  of  you  so  dearly,  that  I  believe 
I  am  as  rich  as  if  I  had  the  flesh  and  strength  of  a  giant.  I 
am  going  this  week  to  hear  Miss  Arnold  read  a  manuscript 
novel.  This  will  give  spice  to  my  life.  Warmest  love  to  you 
all. 

Again,  May  loth,  she  writes: 

It  would  be  a  great  pleasure  to  me  to  keep  a  journal  for 
you  if  I  were  well  enough,  but  I  am  not.  I  have  my  sick 
headache  now  once  a  week,  and  it  makes  me  really  ill  for 
about  three  days.  Towards  night  of  the  third  day  I  begin  to 
brighten  up  and  to  eat  a  morsel,  but  hardly  recover  my 
strength  before  I  have  another  pull-down.  Just  as  I  had  got 
to  this  point  the  door-bell  rang,  and  lo  !  a  beautiful  May-basket 
hanging  on  the  latch  for  "Annie,"  full  of  pretty  and  good 
things.  I  can  hardly  wait  till  morning  to  see  how  her  eyes  will 
shine  and  her  little  feet  fly  when  she  sees  it.  George  has  been 
greatly  distressed  about  S.  S.,  and  has,  I  think,  very  little,  if  any, 
hope  that  he  will  recover.  Dr.  Tappan '  spent  Tuesday  night 
here.  We  had  a  really  delightful  visit  from  him.  He  spoke 
highly  of  your  classmate,  Craig,  who  is  just  going  to  be  mar- 
ried. He  told  us  a  number  of  pleasant  anecdotes  about  father. 
Eddy  has  got  big  enough  to  walk  in  the  street.  He  looks  like 
a  little  picture,  with  his  great  forehead  and  bright  eyes.  He  is 
in  every  way  as  large  as  most  children  are  at  two  years  His 
supreme  delight  is  to  tease  A.  by  making  believe  strike  her  or 
m  some  other  real  boy's  hateful  way.  She  and  he  play  to- 
gether  on  the  grass-plat,  and  I  feel  quite  matronlv  as  I  sit 
watching  them  with  their  balls  and  wheel-barrows  and  what- 
MOts.  Tins  little  scamp  has,  I  fear,  broken  my  constitution  to 
pieces.  It  makes  me  crawl  all  over  when  I  think  of  vou  three 
fagging  all  day  at  such  dull  and  unprofitable  labor.  But  I  ar 
sure   Providence  will  do  what  is  really  best   for  you  all.     W 

^^^V^^JZ:'^  "•"•'  -  ^''  ''-^'  °^  ^-  ^^^-'^  -d  one  of  the  pa 


am 
e 


THE    YOUXr,    WIFE   AND    MOTHER.  121 

think  and  talk  of  and  pray  for  you  every  day  and  more  than 
once  a  day,  and,  in  all  my  ill-health  and  sufferings,  the  remem- 
brance  of  you  is  pleasant  and  in  great  measure  refreshing.  J 
depend  more  upon  hearing  from  you  all  than  I  can  describe. 
What  an  unconquerable  thing  family  affection  is  ! 

She  thus  writes,  May  30th,  to  her  old  Portland  friend,  Miss 
Lord : 

I  have  written  very  few  letters  and  not  a  line  of  anything 
else  the  past  winter,  owing  to  the  confusion  my  mind  is  in 
most  of  the  time  from  distress  in  my  head.  Three  days  out  of 
every  seven  I  am  as  sick  as  I  well  can  be — the  rest  of  the  time 
languid,  feeble,  and  exhausted  by  frequent  faint  turns,  so  that 
I  can't  do  ttie  smallest  thing  in  my  family.  I  hardly  know 
what  it  is  so  much  as  to  put  a  clean  apron  on  to  one  of  my 
children.  To  me  this  is  a  constant  pain  and  weariness  ;  for 
our  expense  in  the  way  of  servants  is  greater  than  we  can 
afford  and  everything  is  going  to  destruction  under  my  face 
and  eyes,  while  I  dare  not  lift  a  finger  to  remedy  it.  I  live  in 
constant  alternations  of  hope  and  despondency  about  my 
health.  Whenever  I  feel  a  little  better,  as  I  do  to-day,  I  am 
sanguine  and  cheerful,  but  the  next  ill-turn  depresses  me  ex- 
ceedingly. I  don't  think  there  is  any  special  danger  of  my  dy- 
ing, but  there  is  a  good  deal  of  my  getting  run  down  beyond 
the  power  of  recovery,  and  of  dragging  out  that  useless  exist- 
ence of  which  I  have  a  perfect  horror.  But  I  would  not  have 
you  think  I  am  not  happy  ;  for  I  can  truly  say  that  I  am,  most 
of  the  time,  as  happy  as  I  believe  one  can  be  in  this  world.  All 
my  trials  and  sufferings  shut  me  up  to  the  one  great  Source  of 
peace,  and  I  know  there  has  been  need  of  every  one  of  them. 

I  have  not  yet  made  my  plans  for  the  summer.  Our  doctor 
urges  me  to  go  away  from  the  children  and  from  the  salt  water, 
but  I  do  not  believe  it  would  do  me  a  bit  of  good.  I  want  you 
to  see  my  dear  little  boy.  He  is  now  nineteen  months  old  and  as 
fat  and  well  as  can  be.  He  is  a  beautiful  little  fellow,  we  think, 
and  very  interesting.  He  is  as  gallant  to  A.  as  you  please,  and 
runs  to  get  a  cushion  for  her  when  their  supper  is  carried  in, 
and  won't  eat  a  morsel  himself  till  he  sees  her  nicely  fixed. 
George  has  gone  to  Boston,  and  I  am  lonely  enough.  I  would 
write  another  sheet  if  I  dared,  but  I  don't  dare. 


122  THE    LIFE    OF    MRS.    PRENTISS. 

What  she  here  says  of  her  happiness,  amidst  the  trials  o( 
the  previous  winter,  is  repeated  a  little  later  in  a  letter  to  her 
husband : 

I  can  truly  say  I  have  not  spent  a  happier  winter  since  our 
marriage,  in  spite  of  all  my  sickness.  It  seems  to  me  I  can 
never  recover  my  spirits  and  be  as  I  have  been  in  my  best 
days,  but  what  I  lose  in  one  way  perhaps  I  shall  gain  in  an- 
other. Just  think  how  my  ambition  has  been  crushed  at  every 
point  by  my  ill-health,  and  even  the  ambition  to  be  useful  and 
a  comfort  to  those  about  me  trampled  underfoot,  to  teach  me 
what  I  could  not  have  learned  in  any  other  school  ! 

In  the  month  of  June  she  went  on  a  visit  to  Newark,  New 
Jersey,  where  her  husband's  mother  and  sister  now  resided: 
Dr.  Stearns  having  in  the  fall  of  1849  accepted  a  call  to  the 
First  Presbyterian  church  in  that  city.  While  she  was  in  New- 
ark news  came  of  the  dangerous  illness,  and,  soon  after,  of  the 
death  at  Natchez  of  her  brother-in-law,  Mr.  S.  S.  Prentiss. 
The  event  was  a  great  shock  to  her,  and  she  knew  that  it 
would  be  a  crushing  blow  to  her  husband.  Pier  letters  to  him, 
written  at  this  time,  are  full  of  the  tender  love  and  sym- 
pathy that  infuse  solace  into  sorrow-stricken  hearts.  Here  is 
an  extract  from  one  of  them,  dated  July  nth: 

I  can't  tell  you  how  it  grieves  and  distresses  me  to  have  had 
this  long-dreaded  af^iction  come  upon  you  when  you  were 
alone.      Though  I  could  do  so  little  to  comfort  you,  it  seems  as 

it'  I  mil  si  be  near  you But  I   know  I  am   doing  right   in 

staying  here — doing  as  you  would  tell  me  to  do,  if  I  could  have 
your  direct  wish,  and  you  don't  know  how  thankful  I  am  that 
it  has  pleased  God  to  let  me  be  with  dear  mother  at  a  time 
when  she  so  needed  constant  affection  and  sympathy.  Yes 
there  arc  wonderful  mercies  with  this  heavy  affliction,  and  we 
all  see  and  feel  them.  Poor  mother  has  borne  all  the  dreadful 
suspense  and  then  the  second  blow  of  to-day  far  better  than 
any  of  us  dared  to  hope,  but  she  v/eeps  incessantly.  Anna  is 
with  her  all  she  can  possibly  be,  and  Mr.  Stearns  is  an  angel  of 
mercy.     I  have  prayed  for  you  a  great  deal  this  week,  and  1 


THE    YOUNG    WIFE    AND    MOTHER.  I23 

know  God  is  with  you,  comforts  you,  and  will  enable  you  to 
bear  this  great  sorrow.  And  yet  I  can't  help  feeling  that  I  want 
to  comfort  you  myself.  Oh,  may  we  all  reap  its  blessed  fruits 
as  long  as  we  live  !  Let  us  withdraw  a  while  from  everything 
else,  that  we  may  press  nearer  to  God. 

We  were  in  a  state  of  terrible  suspense  all  day  Tuesday,  all 
day  Wednesday,  and  until  noon  to-day  ;  starting  at  every  foot- 
fall, expecting  telegraphic  intelligence  either  from  you  or  from 
the  South,  and  deplorably  ignorant  of  Seargent's  alarming 
condition,  notwithstanding  all  the  warning  we  had  had.     Wilh 

one  consent  we  had  put  far  off  the  evil  day And  now  I 

must  bid  you  good-night,  my  dearest  husband,  praying  that 
you  may  be  the  beloved  of  the  Lord  and  rest  in  safety  by 
Him. 

The  early  years  of  Mrs.  Prentiss'  married  life  were  in  vari- 
ous ways  closely  connected  with  that  of  this  lamented  brother; 
so  much  so  that  he  may  be  said  to  have  formed  one  of  the 
most  potent,  as  well  as  one  of  the  sunniest,  influences  in  her 
own  domestic  history.  Not  only  was  he  very  highly  gifted, 
intellectually,  and  widely  known  as  a  great  orator,  but  he  was 
also  a  man  of  extraordinary  personal  attractions,  endeared  to 
all  his  friends  by  the  sweetness  of  his  disposition,  by  his 
winning  ways,  his  wit,  his  playful  humor,  his  courage,  his 
boundless  generosity,  his  fraternal  and  filial  devotion,  and  by 
the  charm  of  his  conversation.  His  death  at  the  early  ai^e 
of  forty-one  called  forth  expressions  of  profound  sorrow  and 
regret  from  the  first  men  of  the  nation.  After  the  lapse  of 
nearly  a  third  of  a  century  his  memory  is  still  fresh  and  bright 
in  the  hearts  of  all,  who  once  knew  and  loved  him.' 

Notwithstanding  the  shock  of  this  great  affliction,  Mrs. 
Prentiss  returned  to  New  Bedford  much  refreshed  in  body  and 
■nind.  In  a  letter  to  her  friend  Miss  Lord,  dated  September 
.4th,  she  writes : 

I  spent  six  most  profitable  weeks  at  Newark  ;  went  out  very 
little,  saw  very  few  people,  and  had  the  quiet  and  retirement  I 
had  long  hungered  and  thirsted  for.    Since  1  have  had  children 

'  See  appendix  B,  p.  534,  lor  a  brief  skctcli  of  his  life. 


124  THE    LIFE   (  )]•    MRS     PRENTISS. 

my  life  has  been  so  distracted  with  care  and  sickness  that  1 
have  sometimes  felt  like  giving  up  in  despair,  but  this  six  weeks 
rest  gave  me  fresh  courage  to  start  anew.  I  have  got  some 
delightful  books — Manning's  Sermons.'  They  are  (letting  the 
High-churchism  go)  most  delightful  ;  I  think  Susan  would 
have  feasted  on  them.  But  she  is  feasting  on  angels'  food  and 
has  need  of  none  of  these  things. 

In  October  of  this  year  Mrs.  Prentiss  bade  adieu  to  New 
Bedford,  never  to  revisit  it,  and  removed  to  Newark ;  her  hus- 
band having  become  associate  pastor  of  the  Second  Presby- 
terian church  in  that  place.  In  the  spring  of  the  following 
year  he  accepted  a  call  to  the  Mercer  street  Presbyterian 
church  in  New  York,  and  that  city  became  her  home  the  rest 
of  her  days.  Although  she  tarried  so  short  a  time  in  Newark, 
she  received  much  kindness  and  formed  warm  friendship 
while  there.  She  continued  to  suffer  much,  however,  from 
ill-health  and  almost  entirely  suspended  her  correspondence. 
A  few  letters  to  New  Bedford  friends  are  all  that  relate  to  this 
period.  In  one  to  Mrs.  J.  P.  Allen,  dated  November  2d,  she 
thus  refers  to  an  accident,  which  came  near  proving  fatal : 

Yesterday  we  went  down  to  New  York  to  hear  Jenny  Lind  ; 
a  pleasure  to  remember  for  the  rest  of  one's  life.  If  anything, 
she  surpassed  our  expectations.  In  coming  home  a  slight  acci- 
dent to  the  cars  obliged  us  to  walk  about  a  mile,  and  I  must 
needs  fall  into  a  hole  in  the  bridge  which  we  were  crossing, 
and  bruise  and  scrape  one  knee  quite  badly.  The  wonder  is 
that  I  did  not  go  into  the  river,  as  it  was  a  large  hole,  and  pitch 
dark.  I  think  if  I  had  been  walking  with  Mr.  Prentiss  I  should 
not  only  have  gone  in  myself,  but  pulled  him  in  too  ;  but  I  had 
the  arm  of  a  stronger  man,  who  held  me  up  till  I  could  extri- 
cate myself.  Y(ju  can't  think  how  I  miss  you,  nor  how  often  I 
wish  you  could  run  in  and  sit  with  me,  as  you  used  to  do.  I 
have  always  loved  you,  and  shall  remember  you  and  yours  with 
the  utmost  interest.  We  had  a  pleasant  call  the  other  day 
from  Captain  Oibbs.  Seeing  him  made  me  liomesick  enough 
I   could    hardly   keep  from  crying  all  the  time  he  stayed.      It 

'  Sermons  by  Henry   Edward    Mannin};,   Archdeacon  of   Chichester   (now   CardinaJ 
Uanning).     ist,  2d,  and  3d  Series. 


THE    YOUNG    WIFE    AND    MOTHER.  I2C 

seems  to  us  both  as  if  we  had  been  gone  from  New  Bedford 
more  months  than  we  have  days.  Mr.  Prentiss  said  yesterday 
that  he  should  expect  if  he  went  back  directly,  to  see  the  boy? 
and  gir'.s  grown  up  and  married. 

Mr,  Prentiss  and  Mr.  Poor  have  just  taken  Annie  and  Eddy 

out  to  walk,  and  I  have  been  moping  over  the  fire  and 

y?i'i/^f?/'v;r,thinking  of  New  Bedford  friends,  and  wishing  one  or 

Neivark     j;nore  would  "happen  in."    I  am  iust  now  orettinQ^  over 
Feb.  12, 1851.  ^  ^  -^  00 

a  severe  attack  of  rheumatism,  which   on  leaving  my 

back  intrenched  itself  in  Mr.  P.'s  shoulder.  I  dislike  this  cli- 
mate and  am  very  suspicious  of  it.  Everybody  has  a  horrible 
cold,  or  the  rh'^umatism,  or  fever  and  ague.  Mr.  Prentiss  says 
if  I  get  the  latter,  he  shall  be  off  for  New  England  in  a  twink- 
ling. I  ihip-k  he  is  as  well  as  can  be  expected  while  the  death 
of  his  brotber  continues  so  fresh  in  his  remembrance.  All  the 
old  cheerfulness,  which  used  to  sustain  me  amid  sickness  and 
trouble,  has  gone  from  him.  But  God  has  ordered  the  iron  to 
enLer  liis  soul,  and  it  is  not  for  me  to  resist  that  w^ill.  Our  chil- 
dren are  well.  We  have  had  much  comfort  in  them  both  this 
winter.  Mother  Prentiss  is  renewing  her  youth,  it  is  so  pleasant 
to  tier  to  have  us  all  near  her.  (Eddy  and  A.  are  hovering 
about  me,  making  such  a  noise  that  I  can  hardly  write.  Eddy 
says,  "When  I  was  tired.  Poor  tarried  me.")  Mr.  Poor  carries 
all  before  him.'  He  is  very  popular  throughout  the  city,  and  1 
believe  Mrs.  P.  is  much  admired  by  their  people.  Mr.  Prentiss 
Is  preaching  every  Sabbath  evening,  as  Dr.  Condit  is  able  to 
preach  every  morning  now.  I  feel  as  much  at  home  as  I  possi- 
bly could  anywhere  in  the  same  time,  but  instead  of  mourning 
less  for  my  New^  Bedford  friends,  1  mourn  more  and  more  every 
day. 

To  Mrs.  Allen  she  writes,  Feb.  21  : 

I  know  all  about  those  depressed  moods,  when  it  costs  one 
as  much  to  smile,  or  to  give  a  pleasant  answer,  as  it  would  at 
other  times  to  make  a  world.  What  a  change  it  will  be  to  us 
poor  sickly,  feeble,  discouraged  ones,  when  we   find  ourselves 

"The  Rev.   I).  W.   Poor,  D.D.,  now  of  Philadelphia.     He  had  been  settled  at  lali 
Haven,  neai  New  Bedford,  and  was  then  a  pastor  in  Newark. 


f20  Tin-:  LIFI-:  of  mrs.  r:;ENTiss. 

where  there  is  neither  pain  or  lassitude  or  fatigue  of  the  body 
or  sorrow  or  care  or  despondency  of  the  mind  ! 

I  miss  you  more  and  more.  People  here  are  kind  and 
excellent  and  friendly,  but  I  can  not  make  them,  as  yet,  f?U  the 
places  of  the  familiar  faces  I  have  left  in  New  Bedford.  I  am 
all  the  time  walking  through  our  neif^hborhood,  d/opping  into 
Deacon  Barker's  or  your  house,  or  welcoming  some  of  you  into 
our  old  house  on  the  corner.  Eddy  is  pretty  well.  He  is  a 
sweet  little  boy,  gentle  and  docile.  He  learns  to  talk  very  fast, 
and  is  crazy  to  learn  hymns.  He  says,  "Tinkle,  tinkle  leetle 
'tar,"  very  prettily,  and  says,  "  I  love  everybody,  and  give  'tatoes 
to  beggar  boys."  Mother  Prentiss  seems  to  tJuHve  on  having  us 
all  about  her.  She  lives  so  far  off  that  I  see  her  seldom,  but 
Mr.  P.  goes  every  day,  except  Sundays,  when  he  can't  go — rain 
or  shine,  tired  or  not  tired,  convenient  or  not  convenient.  Since 
my  mother's  death  he  has  felt  that  he  must  do  quickly  what- 
ever he  has  to  do  for  his  own. 


CHAPTER  V. 

IN   THE   SCHOOL   OF   SUFFERING. 

185I-1858. 

I. 

Removal  to  New  York  and  first  Summer  there.  Letters.  Loss  of  Sleep  and  Anxiet> 
about  Eddy.  Extracts  from  Eddy's  Journal,  describing  his  last  Illness  and  Death. 
Lines  entitled  "To  my  Dying  Eddy." 

Mrs.  Prentiss'  removal  to  New  York  was  an  important 
link  in  the  chain  of  outward  events  which  prepared  her  for 
her  special  life-work.  It  introduced  her  at  once  into  a  circle 
unsurpassed,  perhaps,  by  any  other  in  the  countr\%  for  its  in- 
telligence, its  domestic  and  social  virtues,  and  its  earnest 
Christian  spirit.  The  Mercer  street  Presbyterian  church  con- 
tained at  that  time  many  members  whose  names  were  known 
and  honored  the  world  over,  in  the  spheres  of  business,  pro- 
fessional life,  literature,  philanthropy,  and  religion  ;  and  among 
its  homes  were  some  that  seemed  to  have  attained  ahiiost  the 
perfection  of  beauty.  In  these  homes  the  new  pastor's  wife 
soon  became  an  object  of  tender  love  and  devotion.  Here 
she  found  herself  surrounded  by  all  congenial  influences.  Her 
mind  and  heart  alike  were  refreshed  and  stimulated  in  the 
healthiest  manner.  And  to  add  to  her  joy,  several  dear  old 
friends  lived  near  her  and  sat  in  adjoining  pews  on  the 
Sabbath. 

But  happy  as  were  the  auspices  that  welcomed  her  to 
New  York,  the  experience  of  the  past  two  years  had  taught 
her  not  to  expect  too  much  from  any  outward  conditions 
She  entered,  therefore,  upon  this  new  period  of  her  life  in  a 
very  sober  mood.     Nor  had  many  months  elai)scd  berore  she 

(127; 


128  Till-    lAVE   or    MRS.  TRENTISS. 

bej^an  to  hear  premonitory  murmurs  of  an  incoming  sea  of 
tro'lible.  Most  of  the  summer  of  185 1  she  remained  in  town 
with  the  children.  An  extract  from  a  letter  to  her  youngest 
brother,  dated  August  i,  will  show  how  she  whiled  away  many 
a  weary  hour: 

It  has  been  very  hot  this  summer  ;  our  house  is  large  and 
cool,  and  above  all,  I  have  a  nice  bathing-room  opening  ou'. 
of  my  chamber,  with  hot  and  cold  water  and  a  shower-bath, 
which  is  a  world  of  comfort.  We  spent  part  of  last  week  at 
Rockaway,  L.  I.,  visiting  a  friend.^  I  nearly  froze  to  death,  but 
George  and  the  children  were  much  benefited.  I  have  improved 
fast  in  health  since  we  came  here.  Yesterday  I  walked  two  and  a 
half  miles  with  George,  and  a  year  ago  at  this  time  I  could  not 
walk  a  quarter  of  a  mile  without  being  sick  after  it  for  some 
days.  When  I  feel  miserably  I  j  ust  put  on  my  bonnet  and  get  into 
an  omnibus  and  go  rattlety-bang  down  town  ;  the  air  and  the 
shaking  and  the  jolting  and  the  sight-seeing  make  me  feel  bet- 
ter and  so  I  get  along.  If  I  could  safely  leave  my  children  I 
should  go  with  George.  He  hates  to  go  alone  and  surely  I 
hate  to  be  left  alone  ;  in  fact  instead  of  liking  each  other's  so- 
riety  less  and  less,  we  every  day  get  more  and  more  dependent 
on  each  other,  and  take  separation  harder  and  harder.  Our 
children  are  well. 

To  her  husband,  who  had  gone  to  visit  an  old  friend,  at 
Harpswell,  on  the  coast  of  Maine,  she  writes  a  few  days  later: 

On  Saturday  very  early  Professor  Smith  called  with  the 
House  of  Seven  Gables.  I  read  about  half  of  it  in  the  evening. 
One  sees  the  hand  of  the  artisf  as  clearly  in  such  a  work  as  in 
painting,  and  the  hand  of  a  skilful  one,  too.  I  have  read  many 
books  with  more  interest,  but  never  one  in  which  I  was  so 
diverted  from  the  story  to  a  study  of  the  author  himself.  So 
far  there  is  nothing  exciting  in  it.  I  don't  know  who  supplied 
tlic  pulpit  on  Sunday  morning.  The  sermon  was  to  young 
men,  which  was  not  so  appropriate  as  it  might  have  been,  con- 

>  The  friend  was  Mr.  Wni.  G.  Bull,  who  had  a  sumnier  cottage  at  Rockaway.  He 
was  a  leading  nicniber  of  the  Mercer  street  church  and  one  of  the  best  of  men.  The 
poor  and  unfortunate  blessed  him  all  the  year  round.  To  Mrs.  Prentiss  and  her  husband 
he  was  indefatigable  in  kindness.     He  died  at  an  advanced  age  in  1859. 


IN   THE   SCHOOL  OF   SUFFERING.  120 

sidering  there  were  no  young  men  present,  unless  I  except  our 
Eddy  and  other  sprigs  of  humanity  of  his  age.  I  suppose  you 
will  wonder  what  in  the  world  I  let  Eddy  go  for.  Well,  I  took 
a  fancy  to  let  Margaret  try  him,  as  nobody  would  know  him  in 
the  gallery  and  he  coaxed  so  prettily  to  go.  He  was  highly 
excited  at  the  permission,  and  as  I  was  putting  on  his  sacquc, 
I  directed  Margaret  to  take  it  oii  if  he  fell  asleep.  "  Ho  !  I 
shan't  go  to  sleep,"  quoth  he  ;  "  Christ  doesn't  have  rocking- 
chairs  in  His  house."  He  set  off  in  high  spirits,  and  during 
the  long  prayer  I  heard  him  laugh  loud  ;  soon  after  I  heard  a 
rattling  as  of  a  parasol  and  Eddy  saying,  "  There  it  is  !  "  by 
which  time  Margaret,  finding  he  was  going  to  begin  a  regular 
frolic,  sagely  took  him  out. 

August  ph. — The  five  girls  from  Brooklyn  all  spent  yester- 
day here.  They  had  a  regular  frolic  towards  night,  bathing 
and  shower-bathing.  Afterwards  we  all  went  on  top  of  the 
house.  It  was  very  pleasant  up  there.  I  took  the  children  to 
Barnum's  Museum,  as  I  proposed  doing.  They  were  delighted, 
particularly  with  the  "  Happy  Family,"  which  consisted  of  cats, 
rats,  birds,  dogs,  rabbits,  monkeys,  etc.,  etc.,  dwelling  together 
in  unity.  I  observed  that  though  the  cats  forbore  to  lay  a  paw 
upon  the  rats  and  mice  about  them,  they  yet  took  a  melancholy 
pleasure  in  looking  at  these  dainty  morsels,  from  which  nothing 
could  persuade  them  to  turn  off  their  eyes.  I  am  glad  that  you 
got  away  from  New  Bedford  alive  and  that  you  did  not  stay 
longer,  but  hearing  about  our  friends  there  made  me  quite  long 
to  se(;  them  myself.  Do  have  just  the  best  time  in  the  world  at 
Harpswell,  and  don't  let  the  Rev.  Elijah  drown  you  for  the 
sake  of  catching  your  mantle  as  you  go  down.  I  dare  not  tell 
you  how  much  I  miss  you,  lest  you  should  think  I  do  not  re- 
joice in  your  having  this  vacation.  May  God  bless  and  keep 
you. 

During  the  autumn  she  suffered  much  again  from  feeble 
health  and  incessant  loss  of  sleep.  ''  I  have  often  thought," 
she  wrote  to  a  friend,  ''  that  while  so  stupefied  b\'  sickness  I 
should  not  be  glad  to  see  my  own  mother  if  I  had  to  speak  to 
her."  But  neither  sick  days  nor  sleepless  nights  could  quench 
the  brightness  of  her  spirit  or  wholly  spoil  her  enjoyment  of 
life.  A  little  diary  which  she  kept  contains  many  gleams  of 
9 


30 


TIIK    LIFE    OF    MRS.    PRLNTISS. 


sunshine,  recording  pleasant  visits  from  old  friends,  happ}J 
hours  and  walks  with  the  children,  excursions  to  Newark,  and 
how  amazingly"  she  "  enjoyed  the  boys"  (her  brothers)  on 
their  return  from  the  pursuit  of  golden  dreams  in 
California.  In  the  month  of  November  the  diary  shows 
tliat  her  watchful  eye  observed  in  Eddy  signs  of  disease, 
vxhich  filled  her  with  anxiety.  Before  the  close  of  the  year 
her  worst  fears  began  to  be  realised.  She  wrote,  Dec.  31  : 
"  I  am  under  a  constant  pressure  of  anxiety  about  Eddy. 
How  little  we  know  w^iat  the  New  Year  will  bring  forth." 
Early  in  January,  1852,  his  symptoms  assumed  a  fatal  type, 
and  on  the  16th  of  the  same  month  the  beautiful  boy  was  re- 
leased from  his  sufferings,  and  found  rest  in  the  kingdom  of 
heaven,  that  sweet  home  of  the  little  children.  A  few  extracts 
from  Eddy's  journal  will  tell  the  story  of  his  last  days : 

On  the  19th  of  December  the  Rev.  Mr.  Poor  was  here.  On 
hearing  of  it,  Eddy  said  he  wanted  to  see  him.  As  he  took 
now  so  little  interest  in  anything  that  would  cost  him  an  effort, 
I  was  surprised,  but  told  Annie  to  lead  him  down  to  the  parlor 
on  reaching  it  they  found  Mr.  Poor  not  there,  and  they  then 
went  up  to  the  study.  I  heard  their  father's  joyous  greeting 
as  he  opened  his  door  for  them,  and  how  he  welcomed  Eddy,  in 
particular,  with  a  perfect  shower  of  kisses  and  caresses.  This 
was  the  last  time  the  dear  child's  own  feet  ever  took  him  there  ; 
but  his  father  afterwards  frequently  carried  him  up  in  his  arms 
and  amused  him  with  pictures,  especially  with  what  Eddy 
called  the  "bear  books."'  One  morning  Ellen  told  him  she 
was  going  to  make  a  little  pie  for  his  dinner,  but  on  his  next 
appearance  in  the  kitchen  told  him  she  had  let  it  burn  all  up  in 
the  oven,  and  that  she  felt  dreadfully  about  it.  "  Never  mind, 
I^llic,"  Sciid  lir,  "  iiKiuHiui  does  not  like  to  have  me  eat  pie  ;  but 
whrii  I  ;'t'/  K'iil  I  >hall  have  as  many  as  I  want." 

On  the  24th  (A  December  Mr.  Stearns  and  Anna  were  here. 
I  was  out  with  the  latter  most  of  the  day  ;  on  my  return  Eddy 
came  to  me  with  a  little  tiag  which  his  uncle  had  given  him, 
and  after  they  had  left  us  he  ran  up  and  down  with  it,  and  as 
my  eye  followed  him,  I  Lhought  he  looked  happier  and  brightei 

'  Godinan's  "American  Natural  History," 


N    THE    SCHOOL    OF    SUFFEklXG. 


131 


and  more  like  himself  than  I  had  seen  him  for  a  long  time. 
He  kept  saying,  ''Mr.  Stearns  gave  me  this  flag!"  and  then 
would  correct  himself  and  say,  "  I  mean  my  Uncle  Stearns." 
On  this  night  he  hung  up  his  bag  for  his  presents,  and  after 
going  to  bed,  surveyed  it  with  a  chuckle  of  pleasure  pcculiai 
to  liim,  and  linally  fell  asleep  in  this  happy  mood.  I  took  great 
delight  in  arranging  his  and  A.'s  presents,  and  getting  them 
safely  into  their  bags.  He  enjoyed  Christmas  as  much  as  I  had 
reason  to  expect  he  would,  in  his  state  of  health,  and  was  busy 
among  his  new  playthings  all  day.  He  had  taken  a  fancy 
within  a  few  wrecks  to  kneel  at  family  prayers  with  me  at  my 
chair,  and  would  throw  one  little  arm  round  my  neck,  while 
with  the  other  hand  he  so  prettily  and  seriously  covered  his 
eyes.  As  their  heads  touched  my  face  as  they  knelt,  I  observed 
that  Eddy's  felt  hot  when  compared  with  A.'s  ;  just  enougii  so 
to  increase  my  uneasiness.  On  entering  the  nursery  on  New 
Year's  morning,  I  was  struck  with  his  appearance  as  he  lay  in 
bed  ;  his  face  being  spotted  all  over.  On  asking  Margaret 
about  it,  she  said  he  had  been  crying,  and  that  this  occasioned 
the  spots.  This  did  not  seem  probable  to  me,  for  I  had  never 
seen  anything  of  this  kind  on  his  face  before.  How  little  I 
knew  that  these  were  the  last  tears  my  darling  would  ever 
shed. 

On  Sunday  morning,  January  4,  not  being  able  to  come 
himself,  Dr.  Buck  sent  Dr.  Watson  in  his  place.  I  told  Dr.  W. 
that  I  thought  Eddy  had  water  on  the  brain  ;  he  said  it  was 
not  so,  and  ordered  nothing  but  a  warm  bath.  On  Thursday, 
January  8,  while  Margaret  was  at  dinner,  I  knelt  by  the  side  of 
the  cradle,  rocking  it  very  gently,  and  he  asked  me  to  tell  him 
a  story.  I  asked  what  about,  and  he  said,  "A  little  boy,"  on 
which  I  said  something  like  this  :  Mamma  knows  a  dear  little 
boy  who  was  very  sick.  His  head  ached  and  he  felt  sick  all 
over.  God  said,  I  must  let  that  little  lamb  come  into  my  fi-ld 
then  his  head  will  never  ache  again,  and  he  will  be  a  ery  li.ip- 
py  little  lamb.  I  used  the  words  little  lamb  because  ne  was  so 
fond  of  them.  Often  he  would  run  to  his  nurse  with  liis  face 
full  of  animation  and  say,  ''  Marget  !  ISIamma  says  I  am  her 
little  lamb  !  "  While  I  was  telling  him  this  story  his  eyes  were 
fixed  intelligently  on  my  face.  I  then  said,  "Would  yo-.i  like 
to  know  the  name  of  this  bov  ?  "    With  eagerness  he  said,  "  Ves. 


132  THE    LIFE   OF    MRS.    PRENTISS. 

yes,  mamma  !  "  Taking  his  dear  little  hand  in  mine,  and  kiss 
ino-  it  I  said.  "  It  was  Eddv."  Just  then  his  nurse  came  in  and 
his  attention  was  diverted,  so  I  said  no  more. 

On  Sunday,  January  ii,  at  noon,  while  they  were  all  at  din 
ner,  I  was  left  alone  with  my  darling  for  a  few  moments,  and 
could  not  help  kissing  his  unconscious  lips.  To  my  utter 
amazement  he  looked  up  and  plainly  recognised  me  and  warmly 
returned  my  kiss.  Then  he  said  feebly,  but  distinctly  twice,  ''  I 
want  some  meat  and  potato."  I  do  not  think  I  should  have 
been  more  delighted  if  he  had  risen  from  the  dead,  once  more 
to  recognise  me.  Oh,  it  was  suck  a  comfort  to  have  one  more 
kiss,  and  to  be  able  to  gratify  one  more  wish  ! 

On  Friday,  January  i6th,  his  little  weary  sighs  became 
more  profound,  and,  as  the  da}''  advanced,  more  like  groans  ; 
but  appeared  to  indicate  extreme  fatigue,  rather  than  severe 
pain.  Towards  night  his  breathing  became  quick  and  labori- 
ous, and  between  seven  and  eight  slight  spasms  agitated  his 
little  feeble  frame.  He  uttered  cries  of  distress  for  a  few  min- 
utes, when  they  ceased,  and  his  loving  and  gentle  spirit  as- 
cended to  that  world  where  thousands  of  holy  children  and 
the  blessed  company  of  angels  and  our  blessed  Lord  Jesus,  I 
doubt  not,  joyfully  welcomed  him.  Now  we  were  able  to  say, 
//  is  ic'cll  with  tlie  child ! 

"  Oh,"  said  the  gardener,  as  he  passed  down  the  garden- 
walk,  "who  plucked  that  flower?  Who  gathered  that  plant?' 
Mis  fellow-servants  answered,  "The  Master  !"  And  the  gar- 
dener held  his  peace. 

The  fcclinj^s  of  the  mother's  heart  on  Friday  found  vent  in 
some  lines  entitled  To  My  Dying  Eddy,  January  i6th.  Here 
arc  two  stanzas: 

Blest  chikl !  dear  child  !     For  thee  is  Jesus  calling; 

And  of  our  househokl  thee — and  only  thee  ! 
Oh,  hasten  hence !  lo  His  embraces  hasten  ! 

Sweet  shall  thy  rest  and  safe  thy  shelter  be. 

Thou  who  unguarded  ne'er  hast  left  our  threshold, 
Alone  must  venture  now  an  unknown  way ; 

Yet,  fear  not  !     Footprints  of  an  Intant  Holv 
Lie  on  thy  path.     Thou  canst  niU  go  astray. 


IN   THE   SCHOOL   OF   SUFFERING.  133 

In  a  letter  to  her  friend  Mrs.  Allen,  of  New  Bedford, 
dated  January  28,  she  writes : 

During  our  dear  little  Eddy's  illness  v/e  were  surrounded 
with  kind  friends,  and  many  prayers  were  offered  for  us  and 
for  him.  Nothing  that  could  alleviate  our  affliction  was  left 
uidone  or  unthought  of,  and  we  feel  that  it  would  be  most  un- 
christian and  ungrateful  in  us  to  even  wonder  at  that  Divine 
will  which  has  bereaved  us  of  our  only  boy — the  light  and  sun- 
shine of  our  household.  We  miss  him  sadly.  I  need  not  ex- 
plain to  you,  who  know  all  about  it,  how  sadly  ;  but  we  rejoice 
that  he  has  got  away  from  this  troublous  life,  and  that  we  have 
had  the  privilege  of  giving  so  dear  a  child  to  God.  When  he 
was  well  he  was  one  of  the  happiest  creatures  I  ever  saw,  and  I 
am  sure  he  is  well  now,  and  that  he  is  as  happy  as  his  joyous 
nature  makes  him  susceptible  of  becoming.  God  has  been 
most  merciful  to  us  in  this  affliction,  and,  if  a  bereaved,  we  are 
still  a  happy  household  and  full  of  thanksgiving.  Give  my  love 
to  both  the  children  and  tell  them  they  must  not  forget  us,  and 
when  they  think  and  talk  of  their  dear  brother  and  sisters  in 
heaven,  they  must  sometimes  think  of  the  little  Eddy  who  is 
there  too. 


11. 

Birth  of  her  Third  Child.  Reminiscence  of  a  Sabbath-Evening  Talk.  Story  of  >/ie 
Baby's  Sudden  Illness  and  Death.  Summer  of  1S52.  Lines  entitled  "My 
Nursery." 

The  shock  of  Eddy's  death  proved  almost  too  much  for 
Mrs.  Prentiss'  enfeebled  frame.  She  bore  it,  however,  with 
sweet  submission,  and  on  the  17th  of  the  following  April  her 
sorrow  was  changed  to  joy,  and  Eddy's  empty  place  filled,  as 
she  thought,  by  the  birth  of  Elizabeth,  her  third  child,  a  pict- 
ure of  infantine  health  and  beauty.  But.  although  the  child 
seemed  perfectly  well,  the  mother  herself  was  brought  to  the 
verge  of  the  grave.     For  a  week  or  two  her  life  wavered  in  the 


34 


'IT  1 1-     1,1  if:    <)[••    >iRS.    PRENTISS 


balance,  and  she  was  quite  in  the  mood  to  follow  Eddy  to  the 
better  country.  Her  husband,  recording  a  "long  and  most 
interesting  conversation  "  with  her  on  Sabbath  evening,  May 
2 J,  speaks  of  the  ''depth  and  tenderness  of  her  religious  feel- 
ings, of  her  sense  of  sin  and  of  the  grace  and  glory  of  the 
Saviour,"  and  then  adds,  ''  Her  old  Richmond  exercises  seem 
of  late  to  have  returned  with  their  former  strength  and  beauty 
increased  many-fold."  On  the  14th  of  May  she  was  able  to 
write  in  pencil  these  lines  to  her  sister,  Mrs.  Hopkins: 

I  little  thought  that  I  should  ever  write  to  you  again,  but  I 
have  been  brought  through  a  great  deal,  and  now  have  reason 
to  expect  to  get  well.  I  never  knew  how  much  I  loved  you  till 
I  gave  up  all  hope  of  ever  seeing  you  again,  and  I  have  not 
strength  yet  to  tell  you  all  about  it.  Poor  George  has  suffered 
much.  I  hope  all  will  be  blessed  to  him  and  to  me.  I  am  still 
confined  to  bed.  The  doctor  thinks  there  may  be  an  abscess 
near  the  hip-joint,  and,  till  that  is  cured,  I  can  neither  lie 
straight  in  bed  or  stand  on  my  feet  or  ride  out.  Everybody  is 
kind.  Our  cup  has  run  over.  It  is  a  sore  trial  not  to  be  al- 
lowed to  nurse  baby.  She  is  kept  in  another  room.  I  only  see 
her  once  a  day.  She  begins  to  smile,  and  is  very  bright-eyed.. 
I  hope  your  journey  will  do  you  good.  If  you  can,  do  write  a 
few  lines — not  more.     But,  good-by. 

Hardly  had  she  penned  these  lines,  when,  like  a  thunder- 
bolt from  a  clear  sky,  another  stunning  blow  fell  upon  her. 
On  the  19th  of  May,  after  an  illness  of  a  few  hours,  Bessie, 
too,  was  folded  forever  in  the  arms  of  the  Good  Shepheid. 
Here  is  the  mother's  own  story  of  her  loss: 

Our  darling  Eddy  died  on  the  i6th  of  January.  The  baby 
he  had  so  oiten  spoken  of  was  born  on  the  17th  of  April.  I 
was  too  feeble  to  have  any  care  of  her.  Never  had  her  in  my 
arms  but  twice  ;  once  the  day  before  she  died  and  once  while 
she  was  dying.  I  never  saw  her  little  feet.  She  was  a  beauti- 
ful little  creature,  with  a  great  quantity  of  dark  hair  and  very 
dark  blue  eyes.  The  nurse  had  to  keep  her  in  another  room  on 
account  of  my  illness.  When  she  was  a  month  old  she  brought 
her  to  me  one  afternoon.     "This  child  is  perfectly  beautiful/ 


TX  TTrr.  sriTooL  ot-   sufffiuxt; 


135 


faid  she;  "to-morrow  I  mean  to  dress  her  up  and  have  her 
likeness  taken."  I  asked  her  to  get  me  up  in  bed  and  let  me 
take  her  a  minute.  She  objected,  and  I  urged  her  a  good  deal, 
till  at  last  she  consented.  The  moment  I  took  her  I  was  struck 
by  her  unearthly,  absolutely  angelic  expression  ;  and,  not  hav- 
ing strength  enough  to  help  it,  burst  out  crying  bitterly,  and 
cried  all  the  afternoon  while  I  was  struggling  to  give  h   r  up. 

Her  father  was  at  Newark.  When  he  came  home  at  dark  I 
told  him  I  was  sure  that  baby  was  going  to  die.  He  laughed 
at  me,  said  my  weak  health  made  me  fancy  it,  and  asked  the 
nurse  if  the  child  was  not  well.  She  said  she  was — perfectly 
well.  My  presentiment  remained,  however,  in  full  force,  and 
the  first  thing  next  morning  I  asked  Margaret  to  go  and  see 
how  baby  was.  She  came  back,  saying,  "  She  is  very  well. 
She  lies  there  on  the  bed  scolding  to  herself."  I  cried  out  to 
have  her  instantly  brought  to  me.  M.  refused,  saying  the 
nurse  would  be  displeased.  But  my  anxieties  were  excited  by 
the  use  of  the  word  "scolding,"  as  I  knew  no  bab}^  a  month 
old  did  anything  of  that  sort,  and  insisted  on  its  being  brought 
to  me.  The  instant  I  touched  it  I  felt  its  head  to  be  of  a  burn- 
ing heat,  and  sent  for  the  nurse  at  once.  When  she  came,  I 
said,  "This  child  is  very  sick."  "Yes,"  she  said,  "but  I  wanted 
you  to  have  your  breakfast  first.  At  one  o'clock  in  the  night  I 
found  a  little  swelling.  I  do  not  know  what  it  is,  but  the  child 
IS  certainly  very  sick."  On  examination  I  knew  it  was  erysipe- 
.as.  "  Don't  say  that,"  said  the  nurse,  and  burst  into  tears.  I 
made  them  get  me  up  and  partly  dress  me,  as  I  was  so  excited 
I  could  not  stay  in  bed. 

Dr.  Buck  came  at  ten  o'clock  ;  he  expressed  no  anxiety,  but 
prescribed  for  her  and  George  went  out  to  get  what  he  ordered. 
The  nurse  brought  her  to  me  at  eleven  o'clock  and  begged  me 
to  observe  that  the  spot  had  turned  black.  I  knew  at  once  that 
this  was  fearful,  fatal  disease,  and  entreated  George  to  go  and 
tell  the  doctor:  He  went  to  please  me,  though  he  saw  no  need 
of  it,  and  gave  the  wrong  message  to  the  doctor,  to  the  effect 
that  the  swelling  was  increasing,  to  which  the  doctor  replied 
that  it  naturally  would  do  so.  The  little  creature,  whose 
moans  Margaret  had  termed  scolding,  now  was  heard  all  over 
that  floor  ;  every  breath  a  moan  that  tore  my  heart  in  pieces. 
I   begged    to   have    her    brought    to    me    but    the    nurse    sen! 


136  THE    LIFE    OF    MRS.    TRENTTSS. 

word  she  was  too  sick  to  be  moved.  I  then  begged  the  nurse 
to  come  and  tell  me  exactly  what  she  thought  of  her,  but  sh< 
said  she  could  not  leave  her.  I  then  crawled  on  my  hands  and 
knees  into  the  room,  being  unable  then  and  for  a  long  time 
after  to  bear  my  own  weight. 

What  a  scene  our  nursery  presented  !  Everything  upset 
and  tossed  about,  medicines  here  and  there  on  the  floor,  a  fire 
like  a  fiery  furnace,  and  Miss  H.  sitting  hopelessly  and  with 
falling  tears  with  the  baby  on  a  pillow  in  her  lap — all  its  boast- 
ed beauty  gone  forever.  The  sight  was  appalling  and  its 
moans  heart-rending.  George  came  and  got  me  back  to  my 
sofa  and  said  he  felt  as  if  he  should  jump  out  of  the  window 
every  time  he  heard  that  dreadful  sound.  He  had  to  go  out 
and  made  me  promise  not  to  try  to  go  to  the  nursery  till  his 
return.  I  foolishly  promised.  Mrs.  White'  called,  and  I  told 
her  I  was  going  to  lose  my  baby  ;  she  was  very  kind  and  went 
in  to  see  it  but  I  believe  expressed  no  opinion  as  to  its  state. 
But  she  repeated  an  expression  which  I  repeated  to  myself 
many  times  that  day,  and  have  repeated  thousands  of  times 
since — "  God  never  makes  a  mistake ." 

Margaret  went  soon  after  she  left  to  see  how  the  poor  little 
creature  was,  and  did  not  come  back.  Hour  after  hour  passed 
and  no  one  came.  I  lay  racked  w4th  cruel  torture,  bitterly  re- 
gretting my  promise  to  George,  listening  to  those  moans  till  I 
was  nearly  wild.  Then  in  a  frenzy  of  despair  I  pulled  myself 
over  to  my  bureau,  where  I  had  arranged  the  dainty  little 
garments  my  darling  was  to  wear,  and  which  I  had  promised 
myself  so  much  pleasure  in  seeing  her  wear.  I  took  out  ever\^- 
thing  she  would  need  for  her  burial,  with  a  sort  of  w^ild  pleasure 
in  doing  for  her  one  little  service,  where  I  had  hoped  before  to 
render  so  many.  She  it  was  whom  we  expected  to  fill  our  lost 
Eddy's  vacant  place  ;  we  thought  we  had  had  our  sorrow  and 
that  now  our  joy  had  come.  As  I  lay  back  exhausted,  with 
these  garments  on  my  breast,  Louisa  Shipman"  opened  the 
door.  One  glance  at  my  piteous  face,  for  oh,  how  glad  I  was 
to  see  her  !  made  her  burst  into  tears  before  she  knew  what 
she  was  crying  for. 

'   Mrs.  Norman  Wliite,  mother  of  the  Rev.  Erskine  N.  White,  D.D.,  of  New  York. 

"  Her  cousin,  whose  sudden  death  occurred  under  the  same  roof  in  October  of  the  nex 
y«ar. 


IN   THE   SCHOOL    OF    SUFFERING.  137 

"  Oh,  go  bring  me  news  from  my  poor  dying  baby  ! "  I 
almost  screamed,  as  she  approached  me.  "  And  see,  here  are 
her  grave-clothes."  "Oh,  Lizzy,  have  you  gone  crazy?"  cried 
she,  with  a  fresh  burst  of  tears.  I  besought  her  to  go,  told  her 
how  my  promise  bound  mc,  made  her  listen  to  those  terrible 
sounds  which  two  doors  coald  not  shut  out.  As  ehe  left  the 
room  she  met  Dr.  B.  and  they  went  to  the  nursery  together. 
She  soon  came  back,  quiet  and  composed,  but  very  sorrowful. 
"Yes,  she  is  dying,"  said  she,  "the  doctor  says  so;  she  will 
not  live  an  hour."  ....  At  last  we  heard  the  sound  of  George's 
key.  Louise  ran  to  call  him.  I  crawled  once  more  to  the 
nursery,  and  snatched  my  baby  in  fierce  triumph  from  the 
nurse.  At  least  once  I  would  hold  my  child,  and  nobody 
should  prevent  me.  George,  pale  as  death,  baptized  her  as  I 
held  her  in  my  trembling  arms  ;  there  were  a  few  more  of 
those  terrible,  never-to-be-forgotten  sounds,  and  at  seven  o'clock 
we  were  once  more  left  with  only  one  child.  A  short,  sharp 
conflict,  and  our  baby  was  gone. 

Dr.  B.  came  in  later  and  said  the  whole  thing  was  to  him 
like  a  thunderclap — as  it  was  to  her  poor  father.  To  me  it  fol- 
lowed closely  on  the  presentiment  that  in  some  measure  pre- 
pared me  for  it.  Here  I  sit  with  empty  hands.  I  have  had  the 
little  coffin  in  my  arms,  but  my  baby's  face  could  not  be  seen, 
so  rudely  had  death  marred  it.  Empty  hands,  empty  hands,  a 
worn-out,  exhausted  body,  and  unutterable  longings  to  flee 
from  a  world  that  has  had  for  me  so  many  sharp  experiences. 
God  help  me,  my  baby,  my  baby  !  God  help  me,  my  little  lost 
Eddy! 

But  although  the  death  of  these  two  children  tore  witli 
anguish  the  mother's  heart,  she  made  no  show  of  grief,  and  to 
the  eye  of  the  world  her  life  soon  appeared  to  move  on  as 
aforetime.  Never  again,  however,  was  it  exactly  tlie  same 
life.  She  had  entered  into  the  fellowship  of  Christ's  suffer- 
ings, and  the  new  experience  wrought  a  great  change  in  her 
whole  being. 

A  part  of  the  summer  and  the  early  autumn  of  1852  were 
passed  among  kind  friends  at  Newport,  in  Portland,  and  at 
the  Ocean  House  on  Cape  Elizabeth.  She  returned  much  re- 
freshed, and   gave   herself    up    chc:rfully   to    her  accustomed 


,^3  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

duties.  But  a  cloud  rested  still  upon  her  home,  and  at  tim<is 
the  old  -rief  came  back  again  with  renewed  poignancy.  Here 
are  a  few  lines  expressive  of  her  feelings.  They  were  written 
in  pencil  on  a  little  scrap  of  paper: 

MY  NURSERY.     1852. 

I  thought  that  prattling  boys  and  girls 
Would  fill  this  empty  room  ; 
That  my  rich  heart  would  gather  flowers 
From  childhood's  opening  bloom. 

One  child  and  two  green  graves  are  mine, 
This  is  God's  gift  to  me; 
A  bleeding,  fainting,  broken  heart— 
This  is  my  gift  to  Thee. 


III. 

Summer  ^.\.  White  Lake.  Sudden  Death  of  her  Cousin,  Miss  Shipman.  Quarantined. 
Little  Susv's  Six  Birthdays.  How  she  wrote  it.  The  Floiver  of  the  Family.  Her 
M.:)tive  in 'writing  it.  Letter  of  Sympathy  to  a  bereaved  Mother.  A  Summer  at 
the  Seaside.     Henry  and  Bessie. 

TiiK  year  1853  was  passed  quietly  and  in  better  health.  In 
the  early  summer  she  made  a  delightful  visit  at  The  Island, 
near  West  Point,  the  home  of  the  author  of  ''The  Wide, 
Wide  World."  She  was  warmly  attached  to  Miss  Warner  and 
her  sister,  and  hardly  less  so  to  their  father  and  aunt,  whose 
presence  then  adorned  that  pleasant  home  with  so  much  light 
and  sweetness. 

Rarly  in  August  she  went  with  her  husband  and  child  to 
White  Lake,  Sullivan  Co.,  N.  Y.,  where,  in  company  with 
several  families  from  the  Mercer  street  church,  she  spent  six 
weeks  in  breathing  the  pure  country  air,  and  in  healthful  out- 
door exercise.' 

About  the  middle  of  October  she  was  greatly  distressed 

•  "We  were  all  weifjhed  soon  after  coming  here,"  she  wrote,  "  and  my  ladyship  weighed 
96,  which  makes  me  out  by  far  the  leanest  of  the  ladies  here.  When  thirteen  years  old 
I  weighed  but  50  pounds." 


IN   THE   SCHOOT.   OF   SUFFERING.  139 

by  the  sudden  death  of  the  young  cousin,  already  mention- 
ed, who  was  staying  with  her  during  her  husband's  absence 
on  a  visit  to  New  Bedford.  Miss  Shipman  was  a  bright,  at 
tr-ictive  girl,  and  enthusiastic  in  her  devotion  to  Mrs.  Prentiss. 
The  latter,  in  a  letter  to  her  husband,  dated  Saturday  morning, 
October  15th,  1853,  writes  : 

I  imagine  you  enjoying  this  fine  morning,  and  can't  rejoice 
enough,  that  you  are  having  such  weather.  A.  is  bright  and 
well  and  is  playing  in  her  baby-house  and  singing.  Louise  is 
still  quite  sick,  and  I  see  no  prospect  of  her  not  remaining  so 
for  some  time.  The  morning  after  you  left  I  thought  to  be 
sure  she  had  the  small-pox.  The  doctor,  however,  calls  it  a 
rash.  It  makes  her  look  dreadfully  and  feel  dreadfully.  She 
gets  hardly  a  moment  of  sleep  and  takes  next  to  no  nourish- 
ment. Arrowroot  is  all  the  doctor  allows.  He  comes  twice  a 
day  and  seems  very  kind  and  full  of  compassion.  She  crawled 
down  this  morning  to  the  nursery,  and  seems  to  be  asleep  now. 
Mrs.  Bull  very  kindly  offered  to  come  and  do  anything  if  Louise 
should  need  it,  but  I  do  not  think  she  will  be  sick  enough  for 
that.  I  feel  well  and  able  to  do  all  that  is  necessary.  The  last 
proof-sheets  came  last  night,  so  that  job  is  off  my  hands.'  And 
now,  darling,  I  can't  tell  you  how  I  miss  you.  I  never  missed 
you  more  in  my  life,  if  as  much.  I  hope  you  are  having  a  nice 
visit.  Give  my  love  to  Capt.  and  Mrs.  Gibbs  and  all  our  friends. 
Your  most  loving  little  wife. 

On  the  following  Wednesday,  October  19th,  she  writes  to 
her  husband's  mother : 

You  will  be  shocked  to  hear  that  Louisa  Shipman  died  on 
Sunday  night  and  was  buried  yesterday.  Her  disease  was  spot- 
ted fever  of  the  most  malignant  character,  and  raged  with 
great  fury.  She  dropped  away  most  unexpectedly  to  us,  before 
I  had  known  five  minutes  that  she  was  in  danger,  and  I  came 
rear  being  entirely  alone  with  her.  Dr.  M.  happened  to  be 
here  and  also  her  step-mother;  but  I  had  been  alone  in  tlie 
house  with  her  all  day.  It  is  a  dreadful  shock  to  us  ail,  and  I 
feel  perfectly  stupefied.  George  got  home  in  time  for  the 
funeral,  but  Dr.  Skinner  performed  the  services.     Anna  will  gc 

»  Referring  to  "  Little  Susy's  Six  BiilhJays." 


,40  THE    LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

home  to-morrow  and  tell  you  all  about  it.  She  and  Mr.  S.  slept 
away,  as  the  upper  part  of  the  house  is  airing  ;  and  to-night 
they  will  sleep  at  Prof.  Smith's. 

The  case  was  even  more  fearful  than  she  supposed  while 
writincT  this  letter.  Upon  her  describing  it  to  Dr.  Buck,  who 
called  a  few  hours  later,  he  exclainned,  ''Why,  it  was  malignant 
small-pox!  You  must  all  be  vaccinated  instantly  and  have  the 
bedding  and  house  disinfected."  This  was  done  ;  but  it  was 
too  late  Her  little  daughter  had  the  disease,  though  in  a 
mild  form  ;  and  one  of  her  brothers,  who  was  passing  the 
autumn  with  her,  had  it  so  severely  as  barely  to  escape  with 
his  life.  She  herself  became  a  nurse  to  them  both,  and  passed 
the  next  two  months  quarantined  within  her  own  walls.  To 
her  husl  and's  mother  she  wrote : 

I  am  not  allowed  to  see  anyone — am  very  lonesome,  and  hope 
Anna  will  write  and  tell  me  every  little  thing  about  you  all. 
The  scenes  I  have  lately  passed  through  make  me  tremble  when 
I  think  what  a  fatal  malady  lurks  in  every  corner  of  our  house. 
And  speaking  after  the  manner  of  men,  does  it  not  seem  almost 
incredible  that  this  child,  watched  from  her  birth  like  the  apple 
of  our  eyes,  should  yet  fall  into  the  jaws  of  this  loathsome  dis- 
ease ?  I  see  more  and  more  that  parents  must  leave  their  chil- 
dren to  Providence. 

In  the  early  part  of  this  year  Mrs.  Prentiss  wrote  Little 
Susys  Six  Birthdays,  the  book  that  has  given  so  much  de- 
li^dit  to  tens  of  thousands  of  little  children,  wherever  the  En- 
glish tongue  is  spoken.  Like  most  of  her  books,  it  was  an 
inspiration  and  was  composed  with  the  utmost  rapidity.  She 
read  the  different  chapters,  as  they  were  written,  to  her  hus- 
band, chihi  and  brother,  who  all  with  one  voice  expressed  their 
adiuiratic^n.  In  about  ten  days  the  work  was  finished.  The 
manuscript  was  in  a  clear,  delicate  hand  and  without  an 
erasure.  Ui)(~)n  its  publication  it  was  at  once  recognised  as  a 
profluction  of  real  genius,  inimitable  in  its  kind,  and  neither 
the  po])ular  verdict  nor  the  verdict  of  the  children  as  to  its 
merits  has  ever  changed. 

Mrs.  Prentiss,  as  has  been  slated  already,  began  to  write 


IN   THE   SCHOOL   OF   SUFFERING. 


141 


for  the  press  at  an  early  age.  But  from  the  time  of  her  going 
to  Richmond  till  1853— a  period  of  thirteen  years— her  pen 
was  well  nigh  idle,  except  in  the  way  of  correspondence. 
When,  therefore,  she  gave  herself  again  to  literary  labor,  it 
was  with  a  largely  increased  fund  of  knowledge  and  experience 
upon  which  to  draw.  These  thirteen  years  had  taught  hci 
rich  lessons,  both  in  literature  and  in  life.  They  h.id  been 
especially  fruitful  in  revealing  to  her  the  heart  of  childhood 
and  quickening  her  sympathy  with  its  joys  and  sorrows.  And 
all  these  lessons  prepared  her  to  write  Little  Susy's  Six  Birth- 
days and  the  other  Susy  books. 

The  year  1854  was  marked  by  the  birth  of  her  fourth  child, 
and  by  the  publication  of  The  Floivcr  of  the  Family.  This 
work  was  received  with  great  favor  both  at  home  and  abroad. 
It  was  soon  translated  into  French  under  the  title,  La  Fleiir  de 
la  Famille,  and  later  into  German  under  the  title,  Die  Perle 
der  Familie.     In  both  languages  it  received  the  warmest  praise. 

In  a  letter  to  her  friend  Mrs.  Clark,  of  Portland,  she  thus 
refers  to  this  book : 

I  long  to  have  it  doing  good.  I  never  had  such  desires 
about  anything  in  my  life  ;  and  I  never  sat  down  to  write 
without  first  praying  that  I  might  not  be  suffered  to  write  any- 
thing  that  would  do  harm,  and  that,  on  the  contrary,  I  might 
be  taught  to  say  what  would  do  good.  And  it  has  been  a  great 
comfort  to  me  that  every  word  of  praise  I  ever  have  received 
from  others  concerning  it  has  been  "it  will  do  good,"  and  this 
I  have  had  from  so  many  sources  that  amid  much  trial  and 
sickness  ever  since  its  publication,  I  have  had  rays  of  sunshine 
creeping  in  now  and  then  to  cheer  and  sustain  me. 

To  the  same  friend,  just  bereft  of  her  two  children,  she 
writes  a  few  months  later: 

Is  it  possible,  is  it  possible  that  you  are  made  childless  ?  I 
feel  distressed  for  you,  my  dear  friend  ;  I  long  to  fly  to  you 
and  weep  with  you  ;  it  seems  as  if  I  must  say  or  do  something 
to  comfort  you.  But  God  only  can  help  you  now,  and  how 
thankful  I  am  for  a  throne  of  grace  and  power  where  I  can  com- 
mend you,  again  and  again,  to  Him  who  doeth  all   things  well 


,42  THE   LIFE    OE   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

I  never  realise  my  own  affliction  in  the  loss  of  my  children  a5 
I  do  when  death  enters  the  house  of  a  friend.  Then  I  feel  that 
/  cant  have  it  so.  But  why  should  I  think  I  know  better  than  my 
Divine  Master  what  is  good  for  me,  or  good  for  those  I  love  ' 
Dear  Carrie,  I  trust  that  in  this  hour  of  sorrow  you  have  with  you 
that  Presence,  before  which  alone  sorrow  and  sighing  flee  away. 
God  is  left  ;  Christ  is  left ;  sickness,  accident,  death  can  not 
touch  you  here.  Is  not  this  a  blissful  thought  ?  ....  As  I  sit 
at  my  desk  my  eye  is  attracted  by  the  row  of  books  before  me, 
and  what  a  comment  on  life  are  their  very  titles  :  "  Songs  in 
the  Night,"  "Light  on  Little  Graves,"  "The  Night  of  Weep- 
ing," "The  Death  of  Little  Children,"  "The  Folded  Lamb," 
"The  Broken  Bud,"  these  have  stra3-ed  one  by  one  into  my 
small  enclosure,  to  speak  peradventure  a  word  in  season  unto 
my  weariness.  x\nd  yet,  dear  Carrie,  this  is  not  all  of  life.  You 
and  I  have  tasted  some  of  its  highest  joys,  as  well  as  its  deepest 
sorrows,  and  it  has  in  reserve  for  us  only  just  what  is  best  for 
us.  May  sorrow  bring  us  both  nearer  to  Christ !  I  can  almost 
fancy  my  little  Eddy  has  taken  your  little  Maymee  by  the 
hand  and  led  her  to  the  bosom  of  Jesus.  How  strange  our 
children,  our  own  little  infants,  have  seen  Him  in  His  glory, 
whom  we  are  only  yet  longing  for  and  struggling  towards  ! 

If  it  will  not  frighten  you  to  own  a  Unitarian  book,  there  is 
one  called  "Christian  Consolation"  by  Rev.  A.  P.  Peabody, 
that  I  think  you  w^ould  find  very  profitable.  I  see  nothing,  or 
next  to  nothing,  Unitarian  in  it,  while  it  is /////of  rich,  holy  ex- 
perience. One  sermon  on  "Contingent  Events  and  Provi- 
dence "  touches  your  case  exactly. 

No  event  of  special  importance  marked  the  year  1855.  She 
spent  the  month  of  July  among  her  friends  in  Portland,  and 
the  next  six  weeks  at  the  Ocean  House  on  Cape  Elizabeth. 
This  was  one  of  her  favorite  places  of  rest.  She  never  tired 
of  watching  the  waves  and  their  "  multitudinous  laughter,"  of 
listening  to  the  roar  of  the  breakers,  or  climbing  the  rocks  and 
wandering  along  the  shore  in  quest  of  shells  and  sea-grasses. 
lu  gathering  and  pressing  the  latter,  she  passed  many  a  happy 
hour.  In  August  of  this  year  appeared  one  of  her  best  chil- 
dren's books,  Ilcnry  and  Bessie ;  or.  What  they  Did  in  the 
Country. 


IN   THE   SCHOOL   OF   SUFFERING.  I43 

IV. 

A  Memorable  Year.  Lines  on  the  Anniversary  of  Eddy's  Death.  Extracts  from  he! 
Journal.  Little  Susy's  Six  Teachers.  The  Teachers'  Meeting.  A  New  York 
Waif.  Summer  in  the  Country.  Letters.  Little  Susy's  Little  Servants.  Ex« 
tracts  from  her  Journal.     "  Alone  with  God." 

The  records  of  the  year  1856  are  singularly  full  and  inter- 
esting. It  was  a  year  of  poignant  suffering,  of  sharp  conflicts 
of  soul,  and  of  great  peace  and  joy.  Its  earlier  months,  es- 
pecially, were  shadowed  by  a  dark  cloud  of  anxiety  and  dis- 
tress. And  her  feeble  bodily  state  caused  by  care-worn  days 
and  sleepless  nights,  added  to  the  trouble.  Old  sorrows,  too, 
came  back  again.  On  the  i6th  of  January,  the  anniversary  of 
Eddy's  death,  she  gave  vent  to  her  feelings  in  some  pathetic 
v/erses,  of  which  the  following  lines  form  a  part 

Four  years,  four  weary  years,  my  child, 
Four  years  ago  to-night, 
With  parting  cry  of  anguish  wild 
Thy  spirit  took  its  flight ;  ah  me  ! 
Took  its  eternal  flight. 

And  in  that  hour  of  mortal  strife 

I  thought  I  felt  the  throe, 

The  birth-pang  of  a  grief,  whose  life 

Must  soothe  my  tearless  woe,  must  soothe 

And  ease  me  of  my  woe. 

Yet  folded  far  through  all  these  years, 
Folded  from  mortal  eyes. 
Lying  alas  "too  deep  for  tears," 
Unborn,  unborn  it  lies,  within 
My  heart  of  heart  it  lies. 

My  sinless  child  !  upon  thy  knees 
Before  the  Master  pray  ; 
Methinks  thy  infant  hands  might  seize 
And  shed  upon  my  way  sweet  peace ; 
Sweet  peace  upon  my  way. 

Here  follow  some  extracts  from  her  journal. 

Jan  2,d.  1856.— Had   no  time  to  write  on  New  Year's  day,  as 


J 44  '  THE    LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

we  had  a  host  of  callers.  It  was  a  very  hard  day,  as  I  was  quite 
unwell,  and  had  at  last  to  give  up  and  go  to  bed. 

15///. — Am  quite  uneasy  about  baby,  as  it  seems  almost  im- 
possible she  should  long  endure  such  severe  pain  and  want  of 
sleep.  My  life  is  a  very  anxious  one.  I  feel  every  day  more 
and  more  longing  for  my  home  in  heaven.  Sometimes  I  fear 
it  amounts  almost  to  a  sinful  longing — for  surely  I  ought  to  be 
willing  to  live  or  die,  just  as  God  pleases. 

Feb.  \st. — I  have  had  no  heart  to  make  a  record  of  what  has 
befallen  us  since  I  last  wrote.  And  yet  I  may,  sometime,  want 
to  recall  this  experience,  painful  as  it  is.  Dear  little  baby  had 
been  improving  in  health,  and  on  Wednesday  we  went  to 
dine  at  Mrs.  Wainright's.  We  went  at  four.  About  eight, 
word  came  that  she  was  ill.  When  I  got  home  I  found  her 
insensible,  with  her  eyes  wide  open,  her  breathing  terrific,  and 
her  condition  in  every  respect  very  alarming.  Just  as  Dr.  Buck 
was  coming  in,  she  roused  a  little,  but  soon  relapsed  into  the 
same  state.  He  told  us  she  was  dying.  I  felt  like  a  stone.  In 
a  moment  I  seemed  to  give  up  my  hold  on  her.  She  appeared 
no  longer  mine  but  God's.  It  is  always  so  in  such  great 
emergencies.  TJien,  my  will  that  struggles  so  about  trifles, 
makes  no  effort.  But  as  we  sat  hour  after  hour  watching  the 
alternations  of  color  in  her  purple  face  and  listening  to  that  ter- 
rible gasping,  rattling  sound,  I  said  to  myself  "  A  few  more 
nights  like  this,  and  I  do  believe  my  body  and  soul  would  yield 
to  such  anguisn."  Oh,  why  should  I  try  to  tell  myself  what  a 
night  it  was.  God  knows,  God  only  !  How^  He  has  smitten 
ine  b}  means  of  this  child,  He  well  knows.  She  remained  thus 
about  twelve  hours.  Twelve  hours  of  martyrdom  to  me  such 
as  I  never  had  known.  Then  to  our  unspeakable  amazement 
she  roused  up,  nursed,  and  then  fell  into  a  sweet  sleep  of  some 
hours. 

Sunday^  Feb.  yL — The  stupor,  or  whatever  it  is,  in  which 
that  dreadful  night  has  left  me,  is  on  me  still.  I  have  no  more 
sense  or  feeling  than  a  stone.  I  kneel  down  before  God  and  do 
not  say  a  word.  I  take  up  a  book  and  read,  but  get  hold  of 
nothing.  At  church  I  felt  afraid  I  should  fall  upon  the  people 
and  tear  them.  I  could  wish  no  one  to  pity  me  or  even  know 
that  I  am  smitten.  It  does  seem  to  me  that  those  who  can  sit 
down  and  cry,  know  nothing  of  misery. 


IN   THE   SCHOOL   OF   SUFFERING.  145 

Feb.  Afth. — At  last  the  ice  melts  and  I  can  get  near  my  God— 
my  only  comfort,  my  only  joy,  my  All  in  all  !  This  morning  I 
was  able  to  open  my  heart  to  Him  and  to  cast  some  of  this 

burden  on  Ilim,  who  alone  knows  what  it  is I  see  that  it 

Is  sweet  to  be  a  pilgrim  and  a  stranger,  and  that  it  matters  vtn 
little  what  befalls  me  on  the  way  to  my  blessed  home.  If  G(k1 
pleases  to  spare  my  child  a  little  longer,  I  will  be  very  thank- 
ful..  May  He  take  this  season,  when  earthly  comfort  fails  me 
to  turn  me  more  than  ever  to  Himself.  For  some  months  1 
have  enjoyed  a  great  deal  in  Him.  Prayer  has  been  very  sweet 
and  I  have  had  some  glimpses  of  joys  indescribable. 

dth. — She  still  lives.  I  know  not  what  to  think.  One  mo 
ment  I  think  one  thing  and  the  next  another.  It  is  harder  to 
submit  to  this  suspense  than  to  a  real,  decided  blow.  But  I 
desire  to  leave  it  to  my  God.  He  knows  all  her  history  and  all 
mine.  He  orders  all  these  aggravating  circumstances  and  I 
would  not  change  them.  My  darling  has  not  lived  in  vain. 
For  eighteen  months  she  has  been  the  little  rod  used  by  my 
Father  for  my  chastisement  and  not,  I  think,  quite  in  vain. 
Oh  my  God  !  stay  not  Thy  hand  till  Thou  hast  perfected  thai 
w^hich  concerneth  me.  Send  anything  rather  than  unsanctified 
prosperity. 

Feb.  10th. — To  help  divert  my  mind  from  such  incessant 
brooding  over  my  sorrows,  I  am  writing  a  new  book.  I  had 
just  begun  it  when  baby's  ill-turn  arrested  me.  I  trust  it  may 
do  some  little  good  ;  at  least  I  would  not  dare  to  write  it,  if  it 
could  do  none.     May  God  bless  it ! 

Feb.  14th. — Wanted  to  go  to  the  prayer-meeting  but  con- 
cluded to  take  A.  to  hear  Gough  at  the  Tabernacle.  Seeing 
such  a  crowd  always  makes  me  long  to  be  in  that  happy  crowd 
of  saints  and  angels  in  heaven,  and  hearing  childn^n  sing  so 
sweetly  made  me  pray  for  an  entrance  into  the  singing,  prais- 
ing multitude  there.  Oh,  when  shall  I  be  one  of  that  blessed 
company  who  sin  not !  My  book  is  done  ;  may  God  bless  it  to 
one  child  at  least — then  it  will  not  have  been  wasted  time. 

The   book    referred    to    was    Little   Susys   Six    TcacJurs. 
It  was  published  in  the  spring,  and  at  once  took  its  place  be- 
side the  Six  Birthdays  in  the  hearts  of  the  children  ;    a  place 
it   still   continues  to   hold.     The   six  teachers  are  Mrs.  Love. 
10 


146  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PrENTISS. 

Mr.  Pain,  Aunt  Patience,  Mr.  Ought,  Miss  Joy,  and  the  angel 
l^^aith.  At  the  end  of  six  years  they  hold  a  meeting  and  re- 
port to  little  Susy's  parents  what  they  have  been  doing.  The 
closing  chapter,  herewith  quoted,  gives  an  account  of  this 
meeting,  and  may  serve  as  a  specimen  of  the  style  and  spirit 
of  all  the  Little  Susy  books. 

"  If  Mr.  Pain  is  to  be  at  the  meeting,  I  can't  go,"  said  Miss  Joy. 

She  stood  on  tip-toe  before  the  glass,  dressing  herself  in  holiday  clothes. 

"  Perhaps  he  would  be  willing  to  leave  his  rod  behind  him,"  said  Mrs. 
Love.     "  I  will  ask  him  at  all  events." 

Mr.  Pain  thought  he  should  not  feci  at  home  without  his  rod.  He  said 
he  always  liked  to  have  it  in  his  hands,  wlicLher  he  was  to  use  it  or  not. 

Miss  Joy  was  full  of  fun  and  mischief  about  this  time,  so  she  slipped  up 
slyly  behind  Mr.  Pain  while  he  was  talking  and  snatched  away  the  rod  be- 
fore he  could  turn  round.  Mrs.  Love  smiled  on  seeing  this  little  trick,  and 
they  all  went  down  to  the  parlor  and  seated  themselves  with  much  gravity. 
Little  Susy  sat  in  the  midst  in  her  own  low  chair  looking  wide  awake,  you 
may  depend.  Her  papa  and  mamma  sat  on  each  side  like  two  judges. 
Mrs.  Love  rocked  herself  in  the  rocking-chair  in  a  contented,  easy  way, 
and  Aunt  Patience,  who  liked  to  do  such  things,  helped  Miss  Joy  to  find 
the  leaves  of  her  report — which  might  have  been  rose-leaves,  they  were  so 
small. 

Mr.  Ought  looked  very  good  indeed,  and  the  angel  Faith  shone  across 
the  room  like  a  sunbeam. 

"  Susy  will  be  six  years  old  to-morrow,"  said  her  papa.  "  You  have  all 
been  teaching  her  ever  since  she  was  born.  We  will  now^  listen  to  your  re- 
ports and  hear  what  you  have  taught  her,  and  whether  you  have  done  her 
any  good." 

They  were  all  silent,  but  everybody  looked  Pt  Mrs,  Love  as  much  as  to 
say  she  should  begin.  Mrs.  Love  took  out  a  littL  book  with  a  sky-blue 
cover  and  began  to  read  : 

"  1  have  not  done  much  for  Susy,  but  love  her  dearly ;  and  I  have  not 
taught  her  much,  but  to  love  everybo;ly.  When  she  was  a  baby  I  tried  to 
teach  her  to  smile,  but  I  don't  think  I  could  have  taught  her  if  Miss  Joy  had 
nrit  hclpt-d  me.  And  when  she  was  sick,  I  w^as  always  sorry  for  her,  and 
tiied  to  comfort  her." 

"  Vou  iiave  done  her  a  great  deal  of  good,"  said  Susy's  papa,  "we  will 
engage  you  to  stay  six  years  longer,  should  God  spare  her  life." 

Then  Mr.  Pain  took  up  his  book.  It  had  a  bhick  cover,  but  the  leaves 
Welt  gill-cdged  and  the  cover  was  spangled  with  stars. 

*•  I  hnve  punished  Susy  a  good  many  times,"  said  Mr.  Pain.  "  Some- 
times I  slapped  her  with  my  hand  ;  sometimes  I  struck  her  with  my  rod  ; 
scinetinics  I   made  her  sick;  but  I  never  did  any  of  these  things  because  I 


IN   THE   SCHOOL   OF   SUFFERING.  I47 

A^as  angry  with  her  or  liked  to  hurt  her.  I  only  came  when  Mrs.  Love 
called  me." 

"  You  have  taught  her  excellent  lessons,"  said  Susy's  papa,  "  if  it  had 
not  been  for  you  she  would  be  growing  up  disobedient  and  selfish.  You 
may  stay  six  years  longer." 

Then  Mr.  Pain  made  a  low  bow  and  said  he  was  thinking  of  goi;tg 
away  and  sending  his  brother,  Mr,  Sorrow,  and  his  sister,  Mrs.  Disappoint- 
ment, to  take  his  place." 

"Oh,  no!"  cried  Susy's  mamma,  "not  yet,  not  yet!  Susy  is  still  so 
little  !  " 

Then  Mr.  Pain  said  he  would  stay  without  a  rod,  as  Susy  was  now  too 
old  to  be  whipped. 

Then  Miss  Joy  took  up  her  book  with  its  rainbow  cover  and  tried  tc 
read.  But  she  laughed  so  heartily  all  the  time,  and  her  leaves  kept  flying 
out  of  her  hands  at  such  a  rate,  that  it  was  not  possible  to  understand  what 
she  was  saying.  It  was  all  about  clapping  hands  and  running  races,  and 
picking  flowers  and  having  a  good  time.  Everybody  laughed  just  because 
she  laughed,  and  Susy's  papa  could  hardly  keep  his  face  grave  long  enough 
to  say : 

"You  have  done  more  good  than  tongue  can  tell.  You  have  made  her 
just  such  a  merry,  happy,  laughing  little  creature  as  I  wanted  her  to  be. 
You  must  certainly  stay  six  years  longer." 

Then  Mr.  Ought  drew  forth  his  book.  It  had  silver  covers  and  its 
leaves  were  of  the  most  delicate  tissue. 

"  I  have  taught  little  Susy  to  be  good,"  said  he.  "Never  to  touch  what 
is  not  hers;  never  to  speak  a  word  that  is  not  true;  never  to  have  a  thought 
she  would  not  like  the  great  and  holy  God  to  see.  If  I  stay  six  years  longer 
I  can  teach  her  a  great  deal  more,  for  she  begins  now  to  understand  my 
faintest  whisper.     She  is  such  a  little  girl  as  1  love  to  live  with." 

Then  Susy  turned  rosy-red  with  pleasure,  and  her  papa  and  mamma 
got  up  and  shook  hands  with  Mr.  Ought  and  begged  him  never,  never  to 
leave  their  darling  child  as  long  as  she  lived. 

It  was  now  the  turn  of  Aunt  Patience.  Her  book  had  covers  wrought 
by  her  own  hands  in  grave  and  gay  colors  well  mingled  together. 

"  When  I  first  came  here,"  she  said,  "  Susy  used  to  cry  a  great  deal 
whenever  she  was  hurt  or  punished.  When  she  was  sick  she  was  very  hard 
to  please.  When  she  sat  down  to  learn  to  sew  and  to  read  and  to  write 
she  would  break  her  thread  in  anger,  or  throw  her  book  on  the  Moor,  or  de- 
clare she  never  could  learn.  But  now  she  has  left  off  crying  when  she  is 
hurt,  and  tries  to  bear  tne  pain  quietly.  When  she  is  sick  she  does  not  ftet 
or  complain,  but  takes  her  medicine  without  a  worrl.  When  she  is  sewing 
she  does  not  twitch  her  thread  into  knots,  and  when  she  is  writing  she 
writes  slowly  and  carefully.  1  have  rocked  her  to  sleep  a  thousand  times. 
I  have  been  shut  up  in  a  closet  with  her  again  and  again,  and  1  hope  1  have 
done  her  some  good  and  taught  her  som-  useful  lessons." 


148  'ini':  i.ifi-  of  mrs.  prentiss. 

"  Indeed  you  have,  Aunt  Patience,"  said  Susy's  papa,  "but  Susy  is  not 
yet  perfect.     We  shall  need  you  six  years  longer." 

And  now  the  little  angel  Faith  opened  his  golden  book  and  began  to 
read  : 

"  I  have  taught  Susy  that  there  is  another  world  besides  this,  and  h.ivt: 
told  her  that  it  is  her  real  home,  and  what  a  beautiful  and  happy  one  i^  is. 
1  have  told  her  a  great  deal  about  Jesus  and  the  holy  angels.  I  do  not 
know  much  myself.  I  am  not  very  old,  but  if  I  stay  here  six  years  longer 
I  shall  grow  wiser  and  I  will  teach  Susy  all  I  learn,  and  we  will  pray  to- 
gether everv  morning  and  every  night,  till  at  last  she  loves  the  Lord  Jesus 
with  all  her  heart  and  soul  and  mind  and  strength." 

Then  Susy's  papa  and  mamma  looked  at  each  other  and  smiled,  and 
they  both  said : 

"  Oh,  beautiful  angel,  never  leave  her  !  " 

And  the  angel  answered  : 

"  I  will  stay  with  her  as  long  as  she  lives,  and  will  never  leave  her  till  1 
leave  her  at  the  very  door  of  heaven." 

Then  the  teachers  began  to  put  up  their  books,  and  Susy's  papa  and 
mamma  kissed  her,  and  said  : 

"We  have  had  a  great  deal  of  comfort  in  our  little  daughter  ;  and,  with 
God's  blessing,  we  shall  see  her  grow  up  a  loving,  patient,  and  obedient 
child — full  of  joy  and  peace  and  rich  in  faith  and  good  works.'' 

So  they  all  bade  each  other  good-nigiit  and  went  thankfully  to  bed. 

The  next  entry  in  the  journal  notes  a  trait  of  character,  or 
rather  of  temperament,  which  often  excited  the  wonder  and 
also  the  anxiety  of  her  friends.  It  caused  her  no  little  dis- 
comfort, but  she  could  never  withstand  its  power. 

March  2\st. — I  have  been  busy  with  a  sewing  fit  and  find 
the  least  interesting  piece  of  work  I  can  get  hold  of,  as  great  a 
temptation  as  the  most  charming.  For  if  its  cliarm  does  not 
absorb  my  time  and  thoughts,  the  eager  haste  to  finish  and  get 
it  nut  of  the  way,  does.  This  is  my  life.  I  either  am  stupefied 
by  iil-licalth  or  sorrow,  so  as  to  feel  no  interest  in  anything,  or 
am  absorbed  in  whatever  business,  work  or  pleasure  I  hav(  on 
hinid. 

But  neither  anxiety  about  her  child,  household  cares,  or 
any  work  she  had  in  hand,  so  absorbed  her  thoughts  as  to 
render  her  insensible  to  the  sorrows  and  trials  of  others.  On 
the  contrary,  they  served  rather  to  call  forth  and  intensify  he? 


IN  THE   SCHOOL   OF   SUFFERING.  149 

kindly  sympathies.  A  single  case  will  illustrate  this.  A  poor 
little  girl — one  of  those  waifs  of  humanity  in  which  a  great 
city  abounds — had  been  commended  to  her  by  a  friend.  In  a 
letter  to  this  friend,  dated  March  17,  1856,  she  writes: 

That  little  girl  came,  petticoat  and  all  ;  we  gave  her  some 
breakfast,  and  I  then  went  down  with  her  to  Avenue  A.  On 
the  way,  she  told  me  that  you  gave  her  some  money.  To  my 
great  sorrow  we  found,  on  reaching  the  school,  that  they  could 
not  take  another  one,  as  they  were  already  overflowing.  As  we 
came  out,  I  saw  that  the  poor  little  soul  was  just  ready  to  burst 
into  tears,  and  said  to  her  "  Now  you're  disappointed,  I  know  !  " 
whereupon  she  actually  looked  up  into  my  face  and  smiled. 
You  know  I  was  afraid,  I  never  should  make  her  smile,  she 
looked  so  forlorn,  I  brought  her  home  to  get  some  books,  as 
she  said  she  could  read,  and  she  is  to  come  again  to-morrow. 
A  lady  to  w^hom  I  told  the  whole  story,  sent  me  some  stockings 
that  would  about  go  on  to  her  big  toe  ;  however,  they  will  be 
nice  for  her  little  sister.  The  weather  has  been  so  mild  that  I 
thought  it  would  not  be  worth  while  to  make  her  a  cloak  or 
anything  of  that  sort ;  but  next  fall  I  shall  see  that  she  is 
comfortably  clad,  if  she  behaves  as  well  as  she  did  the  day  she 
was  here.  Oh,  dear  !  what  a  drop  in  the  great  bucket  of  New 
York  misery,  one  such  child  is  !  Yet  somebody  must  look  out 
for  the  drops,  and  I  am  only  too  thankful  to  seize  on  this  one. 

In  June  she  went,  with  the  children,  to  Westport,  Conn., 
where  in  rural  quiet  and  seclusion  she  passed  the  next  three 
months.  Here  are  some  extracts  from  her  letters,  written 
from  that  place : 

Westport,  June  1^,  1S56. 

We  had  a  most  comfortable  time  getting  here  ;  both  the 
children  enjoyed  the  ride,  and  baby  seemed  unusually  briglit. 
Judge  Betts  was  very  attentive  and  kind  to  us.  Mrs.  G.  grow? 
more  and  more  pleasant  every  day.  We  have  plenty  of  good 
food,  but  she  worries  because  I  do  not  eat  more.  You  know  I 
never  was  famous  for  eating  meat,  and  country  dinners  are  not 
tempting.  You  can't  think  how  we  enjoy  seeing  the  poultry 
fed.  There  are  a  hundred  and  eighty  hens  and  chickens,  and 
you  should  see  baby  throw  her  little  hand  full  of  corn  to  them 


I50  THE    LIFE   OF    MKS.    PRENTISS. 

We  went  strawberrying  yesterday,  all  of  us,  and  the  way  she 
was  poked  through  bars  and  lifted  over  stone-w^alls  w^ould  have 
amused  you.  She  is  already  quite  sunburnt  ;  but  I  think  she 
is  looking  sweetly.  1  find  myself  all  the  time  peep'ng  out  of 
the  window,  thinking  every  step  is  yours,  or  that  every  wagon 
holds  a  letter  for  me. 

Mr  P.  enclosed  your  kind  note  in  one  of  his  own,  after  first 
reading  it  himself,  if  you  ever  heard  of  such  a  man.  I 
fl.  ircchey,  had  to  laugh  all  alone  while  reading  it,  w^hich  was  not 
^^'^uue^'  a  little  provoking.  We  are  having  very  nice  times 
here  indeed.  Breakfast  at  eight,  dinner  at  half-past 
twelve,  and  tea  at  half-past  six,  giving  us  an  afternoon  of  un- 
precedented length  for  such  lounging,  strawberrying  or  egg- 
hunting  as  happens  to  be  on  the  carpet.  The  air  is  perfectly 
loaded  with  the  fragrance  of  clover  blossoms  and  fresh  hay.  I 
never  saw  such  clover  in  my  life  ;  roses  are  nothing  in  com- 
parison. I  only  want  an  old  nag  and  a  wagon,  so  as  to  drive  a 
load  of  children  about  these  lovely  regions,  and  that  I  hope 
every  moment  to  attain.  To  be  sure,  it  w'ould  be  amazingly 
convenient  if  I  had  a  table,  and  didn't  have  to  sit  on  the  floor 
to  write  upon  a  trunk  ;  but  then  one  can't  have  everything, 
and  I  am  almost  too  comfortable  w^ith  w^hat  I  have.  A.  is  busy 
reading  Southey  to  her  "  children  "  ;  baby  is  off  searching  for 
eggs,  and  her  felicity  reached  its  height  when  she  found  an 
ambitious  hen  had  laid  two  in  her  carriage,  which  little  thought 
what  it  was  coming  to  the  country  for.  I  think  the  dear  child 
already  looks  better;  she  lives  in  the  open  air  and  enjoys  every- 
thing. 

Mrs.  Buck  lives  about  half  a  mile  below  us,  and  we  run 
back  and  forth  many  times  a  day.  I  have  already  caught  the 
country  fashion  of  rushing  to  the  window^s  the  moment  a  wheel 
or  an  o])cning  gate  is  heard.  I  fancy  everybody  is  bringing  mo 
a  letter  or  else  want  to  send  one  to  the  office,  and  the  only  way 
1 1  do  that  is  to  scream  at  passers-by  and  ask  them  if  they  are 
going  that  way.  If  you  hear  that  I  am  often  seen  driving  a 
flock  of  geese  down  the  road,  or  climbing  stone  walls,  or  cree]>- 
ing  through  bar  fences,  you  needn't  believe  a  w^ord  of  it,  for  1 
am  a  pattern  of  propriety,  and  pride  myself  on  my  dignity.  I 
hope,  now  ycni  have  begun  so  charmingly,  that  you  will  write 
again       Vvu  know  wiiat  letters  are  in  the  country. 


IN   THE   SCHOOL   OF   SUFFERING.  151 

I  wonder  where   you   are  this  lovely  morning?     Having  0 
nice  time  somewhere,   I  do  hope,  for  it  is  too  fine  a 

To  her  I  Jus-  ,        ,  t  ,.  1  it 

land.  West-  day  to  be  lost.  If  you  want  to  know  where  1  am, 
P^^'^^y^""^  ^vhy  I'm  sitting  at  the  window  writing  on  a  trunk  tliat 
I  have  just  lifted  into  a  chair,  in  order  to  make  a  table. 
For  table  there  is  none  in  this  room,  and  how  am  I  to  write  a 
book  without  one  ?  If  ever  I  get  down  to  the  village,  I  hope 
to  buy,  beg,  borrow  or  steal  one,  and  until  that  time  am  put- 
ting off  beginning  my  new  Little  Susy.'  That  note  from  Miss 
Warner,  by  the  by,  spoke  so  enthusiastically  of  the  Six  Teach- 
ers that  I   felt  compensated   for  the  mortification   of  hearing 

call  it  a  "nice  "  book.     You  will  be  sorry  to  hear  that  I 

have  no  prospect  of  getting  a  horse.  I  am  quite  disappointed, 
as  besides  the  pleasure  of  driving  our  children,  I  hoped  to  give 
Mrs.  Back  and  the  boys  a  share  in  it.  Only  to  think  of  her 
bringing  up  from  the  city  a  beefsteak  for  baby,  and  proposing 
that  the  doctor  should  send  a  small  piece  for  her  every  day  ! 
Thank  you,  darling,  for  your  proposal  about  the  Ocean  House. 
I  trust  no  such  change  will  be  needful.  We  are  all  comfortable 
now,  the  weather  is  delicious,  and  there  are  so  many  pretty 
walks  about  here,  that  I  am  only  afraid  I  shall  be  too  well  off. 
Everything  about  the  country  is  charming  to  me,  and  I  never 
get  tired  of  it.  The  first  few  days  nurse  seemed  a  good  deal 
out  of  sorts  ;  but  I  must  expect  some  such  little  vexations  ;  of 
course,  I  can  not  have  perfection,  and  for  dear  baby's  sake  I 
shall  try  to  exercise  all  the  prudence  and  forbearance  I  can. 

Sunday. — We  went  to  church  this  morning  and  heard  a  most 
instructive  and,  I  thought,  superior  sermon  from  Mr.  Burr  of 
Weston,  on  progress  in  religious  knowledge.  He  used  the  very 
illustration  about  the  cavern  and  the  point  of  light  that  yon  did. 

j^^ly  ^th.—W^  all  drove  to  the  beach  on  Saturday.  It  was 
just  the  very  day  for  such  a  trip,  and  baby  was  enchanted.  She 
sat  right  down  and  began  to  gather  stones  and  shells,  as  if  she 
had  the  week  before  her.  We  were  gone  three  liours  and  came 
home  by  way  of  the  village,  quite  -in  the  mood  for  supper. 
Yesterday  we^  had  a  pleasant  service  ;  Mr.  Atkinson  appears  to 
be  a  truly  devout,  heavenly  man  to  whom  I  felt  my  heart  knit 
at  the  outset  on  this  account.  I  am  taking  great  delight  in 
reading  the  Memoir  of  Miss   Allibone.'     How  I  wish   I  had  a 

'  Liftfe  SttsVs  Little  Servaitfs. 

'  A  Life  hid  with  Christ  in  Go<l,  being  a  memuir  of  Susan  AUibone.     By  .\lfred  Lee, 
Bishop  of  the  Protestant  Episcopal  Church  in  Delaware. 


152  THE    LIFE   OF   MRS.  PRENTISS. 

friend  of  so  heavenly  a  temper  !  I  fear  my  new  Little  Susy  will 
come  out  at  the  little  end  of  the  horn.  I  am  sure  it  won't  be 
so  good  as  the  others.     It  is  more  than  one  quarter  done. 

July  2i.f/.— What  do  3^ou  think  I  did  this  forenoon  ?  Why,  1 
finished  Little  Susy  and  shall  lay  it  aside  for  some  days, 
when  I  shall  read  it  over,  correct,  and  pack  it  off  out  of  the 
way.  Yes,  I  wish  you  would  bring  my  German  Hymn  Book. 
I  am  so  glad  you  liked  the  hymns  I  had  marked  ! '  And  do 
get  well  so  as  not  to  have  to  leave  off  preaching  the  Gospel. 
My  heart  dies  within  me  whenever  I  think  of  your  leaving  the 
ministry.  Every  day  I  live,  it  appears  to  me  that  the  office  of 
a  Christian  pastor  and  teacher  is  the  best  in  the  world.  I  shall 
not  be  able  to  write  you  a  word  to-morrow,  as  we  are  to  go  to 
Greenfield  Hill  to  Miss  Murray's,  and  you  must  take  to-mor- 
row's love  to-night — if  you  think  you  can  stand  so  much  at 
once.     God  be  with  you  and  bless  you. 

Julv  loth. — Baby  and  I  have  just  been  having  a  great  frolic. 
She  was  so  pleased  with  your  message  that  she  caught  up  your 
letter  and  kissed  it,  which  I  think  very  remarkable  in  a  child 
who,  I  am  sure,  never  saw  such  a  thing  done.  A.  seems  well 
and  happy,  and  is  as  good  as  I  think  we  ought  to  expect.  I  see 
more  and  more  every  day,  that  if  there  ever  was  such  a  thing 
as  human  perfection,  it  was  as  long  ago  as  David's  time  when, 
as  he  says,  he  saw  the  "  end  "  of  it.  How  very  kind  the  W.'s 
have  been  ! 

Aii^riist  zd.—\  got  hold  of  Dr.  Boardman's  "  Bible  in  the 
Family,"  at  the  Bucks  yesterday,  and  brought  it  home  to  read. 
I  like  it  very  much.  There  is  a  vein  of  humor  running  through 
it  which,  subdued  as  it  is,  must  have  awakened  a  good  many 
smiles.  He  quotes  some  lines  of  Coleridge,  which  I  wonder  I 
did  not  have  as  a  motto  for  Susy's  Teachers  : 

Love,  Hope  and  Patience,  these  must  be  thy  graces, 
And  in  thine  own  heart  let  them  first  keep  school. 

Dr.  Buck,  who  has  seen  her  twice  since  we  came  here,  thinks 

baby  wonderfully  improved,  and  says  every  day  she 

Mary  B.    livcs  increases  her  chance  of  life.    I  have  been  exceed- 

n'-fsTpo"},  i"gly  encouraged  by  all  he  has  said,  and  feel  a  great 

Axtj^ustix.  \q-^(\  off  my  heart.     Last  Friday,  on  fifteen  minutes 

'  See  appendix  C,  p.  539. 


IN   THE   SCHOOL   OF   SUFFERING.  153 

notice,  I  packed  up  and  went  home^  taking  nurse  and  biddies 
of  course.  I  was  so  restless  and  so  perfectly  possessed  to  go  to 
meet  George,  that  I  could  not  help  it.  We  went  in  the  six 
o'clock  train,  as  it  was  after  five  when  I  was  "taken"  with  the 
fit  that  started  uie  off;  got  home  in  a  soft  rain,  and  to  ou' 
great  surprise  and  delight  found  G.  there,  he  having  got  home- 
sick at  Saratoga,  and  just  rushed  to  New  York  on  his  way  here. 
We  had  a  great  rejoicing  together,  you  may  depend,  and  I  had 
a  charming  visit  of  nearly  three  days.  We  got  back  on  Mon- 
day night,  rather  tired,  but  none  of  us  at  all  the  worse  for  the 
expedition.  Mr.  P.  sits  here  reading  the  Tribune,  and  A.  is 
reading  "  Fremont's  Life."  She  is  as  brown  as  an  Indian  and 
about  as  wild. 

A  few  passages  from  her  journal  will  also  throw  light  upon 
this  period: 

June  2iOth. — I  am  finding  this  solitude  and  leisure  very  sweet 
and  precious  ;  God  grant  it  may  bear  the  rich  and  abundant 
fruit  it  ought  to  do  !  Communion  with  Him  is  such  a  blessing, 
here  at  home  in  my  own  room,  and  out  in  the  silent  woods  and 
on  the  wayside.  Saturday,  especially,  I  had  a  long  walk  full  of 
blissful  thoughts  of  Him  whom  I  do  believe  I  love — oh,  that  I 
loved  Him  better  ! — and  in  the  evening  Mrs.  Buck  came  and  we 
had  some  very  sweet  beginnings  of  what  will,  I  trust,  ripen  into 
most  profitable  Christian  communion.  My  heart  delights  in 
the  society  of  those  who  love  Him.  Yesterday  I  had  a  more 
near  access  to  God  in  prayer  than  usual,  so  that  during  the 
whole  service  at  church  I  could  hardly  repress  tears  of  joy  and 
gratitude. 

July  "jfk. — I  do  trust  God's  blessed,  blessed  Spirit  is  dealing 
faithfully  with  my  soul — searching  and  sifting  it,  revealing  it 
somewhat  to  itself  and  preparing  it  for  the  indwelling  of  Christ. 
This  I  do  heartily  desire.  Oh,  God  !  search  me  and  know  me, 
and  show  me  my  own  guilty,  poor,  meagre  soul,  that  I  may 
turn  from  it,  humbled  and  ashamed  and  penitent,  to  my  blessed 
Saviour.  How  very,  very  thankful  I  feel  for  this  seclusion  and 
leisure  ;  this  quiet  room  where  I  can  seek  my  God  and  pray 
and  praise,  unseen  by  any  human  eye — and  which  sometimes 
seems  like  the  very  gate  of  heaven. 


,54  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

July  23,/ —This  is  my  dear  little  baby's  birthday.  I  was  not 
able  to  sleep  last  night  at  all,  but  at  last  got  up  and  prayed 
specially  for  her.  God  has  spared  her  two  years  ;  I  can  hardl> 
believe  it  !  Precious  years  of  discipline  they  have  been,  fo; 
which  I  do  thank  Him.  I  have  prayed  much  for  her  to-day, 
aid  with  some  faith,  that  if  her  life  is  spared  it  will  be  for  His 
glory.  How  far  rather  would  I  let  her  go  this  moment,  than 
grow  up  without  loving  Him  !     Precious  little  creature  ! 

27//;._This  has  been  one  of  the  most  oppressive  days  I  ever 
knew.  I  went  to  church,  however,  and  enjoyed  all  the  services 
unusually.  As  we  rode  along  and  I  saw  the  grain  ripe  for  the 
harvest,  I  said  to  myself,  "  God  gathers  in  His  harvest  as  soon 
as  it  is  ripe,  and  if  I  devote  myself  to  Him  and  pray  much  and 
turn  entirely  from  the  world  I  shall  ripen,  and  so  the  sooner 
get  where  I  am  all  the  time  yearning  and  longing  to  go  !  "  I  fear 
this  was  a  merely  selfish  thought,  but  I  do  not  know.  This 
world  seems  less  and  less  homelike  every  day  I  live.  The  more 
I  pray  and  meditate  on  heaven  and  my  Saviour  and  saints  who 
have  crossed  the  flood,  the  stronger  grows  my  desire  to  be  bid- 
den to  depart  hence  and  go  up  to  that  sinless,  blessed  abode. 
Not  that  I  forget  my  comforts,  my  mercies  here  ;  they  are  mani- 
fold;  I  know  they  are.  But  Christ  appears  so  precious  ;  sin  so 
dreadful  !  so  dreadful  !  To-day  I  gave  way  to  pride  and  irri- 
tation, and  my  agony  on  account  of  it  outweighs  weeks  of 
merely  earthly  felicity.  The  idea  of  a  Christian  as  he  should 
be,  and  the  reality  of  most  Christians — particularly  myself — 
why,  it  almost  makes  me  shudder  ;  my  only  comfort  is,  in  heav- 
en, I  can  not  sin  !  In  heaven  I  shall  see  Christ,  and  see  Him  as 
He  is,  and  praise  and  honor  Him  as  I  never  do  and  never  shall 
do  here.  And  yet  I  know  my  dear  little  ones  need  me,  poor 
and  imperfect  a  mother  as  I  am  ;  and  I  pray  every  hour  to  be 
made  willing  to  wait  for  their  sakes.  For  at  the  longest  it  will 
not  be  long.  Oh,  I  do  believe  it  is  the  sin  I  dread  and  not  the 
suffering  of  life — but  I  know  not ;  I  may  be  deluded.  My  love 
to  my  Master  seems  to  me  very  shallow  and  contemptible.  I 
an  astonished  that  I  love  anything  else.  Oh,  that  He  would 
this  moment  come  down  into  this  room  and  tell  me  I  never 
never,  shall  grieve  Him  again  ! 

Some  verses  entitled  'Alone  with  God,"  belong  here: 


IN    THE    SCHOOL   OF   SUFFERING.  1^5 

Into  my  closet  fleeing,  as  the  dove 

Doth  homeward  flee, 
I  haste  away  to  ponder  o'er  Thy  love 

Alone  with  Thee  ! 

In  the  dim  wood,  by  Laman  ear  unheard, 

Joyous  and  free, 
Lord  !   I  adore  Thee,  feasting  on  Thy  word, 

Alone  with  Thee  ! 

Amid  the  busy  city,  thronged  and  gay, 

But  One  I  see, 
Tasting  sweet  peace,  as  unobserved  I  pray 

Alone  with  Thee  ! 

Oh,  sweetest  life  !  Life  hid  with  Christ  in  God  ' 

So  making  me 
At  home,  and  by  the  wayside,  and  abroad. 

Alone  with  Thee  ! 


Westport,  August  22,  1S56. 


V. 

R2ady  for  new  Trials.  Dang-erous  Illness.  Extracts  from  her  Journal,  Visit  to  Green- 
wood. Sabbath  Meditations.  Birth  of  another  Son.  Her  Husband  resigns  hij 
pastoral  Charge.     Voyage  to  Europe. 

The  summer  at  Westport  was  so  beneficial  to  the  baby 
and  so  full  both  of  bodily  and  spiritual  refreshment  to  herself, 
that  on  returning  to  town,  she  resumed  her  home  tasks  with 
unwonted  ease  and  comfort.  The  next  entry  in  her  journal 
alludes  to  this: 

N'oveinber  27///. — Two  months,  and  not  a  word  in  my  journal ! 
I  have  done  far  more  with  my  needle  and  my  feet  than  with 
my  pen.  One  comes  home  from  the  country  to  a  good  many 
cares,  and  they  are  worldly  cares,  too,  about  eating  and  about 
wearing.  I  hope  the  worst  of  mine  are  over  now  and  that  I 
shall  have  more  leisure.  But  no,  I  forget  that  now  comes  the 
dreaded,  dreaded  experience  of  weaning  bab3^    But  what  then? 


156  THE    LIFE   OF    MRS.    I  i^ENTISS. 

I  have  had  a  good  rest  this  fall.  Have  slept  unusunlly  well 
why,  only  think,  some  nights  not  waking  once— and  some 
nights  only  a  few  times  ;  and  then  we  have  had  no  sickness 
haby  better— all  better.  Now  I  ought  to  be  willing  to  have 
:he  trials  I  need  so  much,  seeing  I  have  had  such  a  rest.  And 
heaven  !  heaven  !  let  me  rest  on  that  precious  word.  Heaven 
is  at  the  end  and  God  is  there. 

Early  in  March,  1857,  she  was  taken  very  ill  and  continued 
so  until  May.  For  son:ie  weeks  her  recovery  seemed  hardly 
possible.  She  felt  assured  her  hour  had  come  and  was  eager 
to  go.  All  the  yearnings  of  her  heart,  during  many  years, 
seemed  on  the  point  of  being  gratified.  The  next  entry  in  her 
journal  refers  to  this  illness: 

Sunday,  May  24th,  1857. — Just  reading  over  the  last  record 
how  ashamed  I  felt  of  my  faithlessness  !  To  see  dear  baby  so 
improved  by  the  very  change  I  dreaded,  and  to  hear  her  pretty, 
cheerful  prattle,  and  to  find  in  her  such  a  source  of  jo}  and 
comfort — what  undeserved,  what  unlooked-for  mercies  !  But 
ike  a  physician  who  changes  his  remedies  as  he  sees  occasion, 
and  who  forbears  using  all  his  severe  ones  at  once,  my  Father 
first  relieved  me  from  my  wearing  care  and  pain  about  this 
dear  child,  and  then  put  me  under  new  discipline.  It  is  now 
nearly  six  months  since  I  have  been  in  usual  health,  and  eight 
weeks  of  great  prostration  and  suffering  have  been  teaching  me 
many  needed  lessons.  Now,  contrary  to  my  hopes  and  expec- 
tations, I  find  myself  almost  well  again.  At  first,  having  got 
my  heart  set  toward  heaven  and  after  fancying  myself  almost 
there,  1  felt  disappointed  to  find  its  gates  still  shut  against  me.^ 

But  God  was  very  good  to  me  and  taught  me  to  yield  in 
this  point  to  His  wiser  and  better  will  ;  He  made  me,  as  far  as 
I  know,  as  peaceful  in  the  prospect  of  living  as  joyful  in  the 
prospect  of  dying.     Heaven  did,  indeed,  look  very  attractive 

'  Many  year?  afterward,  speaking  to  a  friend  of  this  illness,  she  related  the  following 
incident.  One  day  she  lay,  as  was  supposed,  entirely  unconscious  and  in  articulo  mor- 
tis. Repeated  but  vain  attempts  had  been  made  to  administer  a  medicine  ordered  by 
the  doctor  to  bo  used  in  case  of  extremity.  Her  husband  urged  one  more  attempt  still ; 
it  niicfht  possibly  sviccced.  She  heard  distinctly  every  word  that  was  spoken  and  instantly 
reasoned  within  herself,  whether  she  should  consent  or  refuse  to  swallow  the  medicine. 
Fancying  herself  just  entering  the  eternal  city,  she  longed  to  refuse  but  decided  it  would 
be  wiong  and  so  :onsented  to  come  back  again  to  earth. 


IN   THE    SCHOOL   OF   SUFFERING.  157 

when  I  thought  myself  so  near  it  ;  I  pictured  myself  as  no 
longer  a  sinner  but  a  blood-washed  saint  ;  I  thought  I  shall 
soon  see  Him  whom  my  soul  loveth,  and  see  Him  as  He  is  ;  1 
shall  never  wound,  never  grieve  Him  again,  and  all  my  com- 
panions will  be  they  who  worship  Him  and  adore  Him.  But 
not  yet  am  I  there  !  Alas,  not  yet  a  saint !  My  soul  is  op- 
pressed, now  that  health  is  returning,  to  find  old  habits  of  sin 
returning  too,  and  this  monster  Self  usurping  God's  place,  as 
of  old,  and  pride  and  love  of  ease  and  all  the  infirmities  of  the 
flesh  thick  upon  me.  After  being  encompassed  with  mercies 
for  two  months,  having  every  comfort  this  world  could  offer 
for  my  alleviation,  I  wonder  at  myself  that  I  can  be  anything 
but  a  meek,  docile  child,  profiting  by  the  Master's  discipline, 
sensible  of  the  tenderness  that  went  hand-in-hand  with  every 
stroke,  and  walking  softly  before  God  and  man  !  But  I  am  in- 
deed a  wayward  child  and  in  need  of  many  more  stripes.  May 
I  be  made  willing  and  thankful  to  bear  them. 

Indeed,  I  do  thank  my  dear  Master  that  He  does  not  let  me 
alone,  and  that  He  has  let  me  suffer  so  much  ;  it  has  been  a 
rich  experience,  this  long  illness,  and  I  do  trust  He  will  so 
sanctify  it  that  1  shall  have  cause  to  rejoice  over  it  all  the  rest 
of  my  life.  Now  may  I  return  patiently  to  all  the  duties  that 
lie  in  my  sphere.  May  I  not  forget  how  mxomentous  a  thing 
death  appeared  when  seen  face  to  face,  but  be  ever  making 
ready  for  its  approach.  And  may  the  glory  of  God  be,  as  it 
never  yet  has  been,  my  chief  end.  My  love  to  Him  seems  to 
me  so  very  feeble  and  fluctuating.  Satan  and  self  keep  up  a 
continual  struggle  to  get  the  victory.  But  God  is  stronger 
than  either.  He  must  and  will  prevail,  and  at  last,  and  in  a 
time  far  better  than  any  I  can  suggest,  He  will  open  those  closed 
gates  and  let  me  enter  in  to  go  no  more  out,  and  then  "  I  shall 
never,  never  sin." 

As  might  be  inferred  from  this  record,  she  was  at  this  time 
in  the  sweetest  mood,  full  of  tenderness  and  love.  The  time 
of  the  singing  of  birds  had  now  come,  and  all  nature  was 
clothed  with  that  wondrous  beauty  and  verdure  whicli  mark 
the  transition  from  spring  to  summer.  The  drives,  which 
she  was  now  able  to  take  into  the  country,  on  either  side 
of  the  river,  gave  her  the  utmost  delight.      On   the  30th  of 


158  THE   TJFE   OF    MRS.  PRENTISS. 

May — the  day  that  has  since  become  consecrated  to  the  mem- 
or>^  of  the  Nation's  heroic  dead — she  went,  with  her  husband 
and  eldest  daughter,  to  visit  and  place  flowers  upon  the  graves 
of  Eddy  and  Bessie.  Never  is  Greenwood  more  lovely  and 
impressive  than  at  the  moment  when  May  is  just  passing  into 
June.  It  is  as  if  Nature  were  in  a  transfiguration  and  the 
glory  of  the  Lord  shone  upon  the  graves  of  our  beloved  !  Mrs. 
Prentiss  made  no  record  of  this  visit,  but  on  the  following 
day  thus  wrote  in  her  journal : 

May  3IJ-/. — Another  peaceful,  pleasant  Sunday,  whose  only 
drawback  has  been  the  want  of  strength  to  get  down  on  my 
knees  and  praise  and  pray  to  my  Saviour,  as  I  long  to  do.  For 
well  as  I  am  and  astonishingly  improved  in  every  way,  a  very 
few  minutes'  use  of  my  voice,  even  in  a  whisper,  in  prayer,  ex- 
hausts me  to  such  a  degree  that  I  am  ready  to  faint.  This 
seems  so  strange  when  I  can  go  on  talking  to  any  extent — but 
then  it  is  talking  without  emotion  and  in  a  desultory  way.  Ah 
well  !  God  knows  best  in  what  manner  to  let  me  live,  and  I 
desire  to  ask  for  nothing  but  a  docile,  acquiescent  temper 
whose  only  petition  shall  be,  "  What  wilt  Thou  have  me  to 
do?"  not  how  can  I  get  most  enjoyment  along  the  way.  1  can 
not  believe  if  I  am  His  child,  that  He  will  let  anything  hinder 
my  progress  in  the  divine  life.  It  seems  dreadful  that  I  have 
gone  on  so  slowly,  and  backward  so  many  times — but  then  I 
liave  been  thinking  this  is  "to  humble  and  to  prove  me,  and  to 
do  me  good  in  the  latter  end."  ....  I  thank  my  God  and 
Saviour  for  every  faint  desire  He  gives  me  to  see  Him  as  He  is, 
and  to  be  changed  into  His  image,  and  for  every  struggle 
against  sin  He  enables  me  to  make.  It  is  all  of  Him.  I  do 
wisli  I  loved  Him  better  !  I  do  wish  He  were  never  out  of  my 
thf)uglits  and  that  the  aim  to  do  His  will  swallowed  up  all 
other  desires  and  strivings.  Satan  whispers  that  will  never  be. 
r,iit  it  shall  be  !  One  day— oh,  longed-for,  blessed,  blissful 
day  I — Christ  will  become  my  Ail  in  all  !     Yes,  even  mine  ! 

Tliis  is  the  last  entry  in  her  journal  for  more  than  a  year; 
lier  letters,  too,  during  the  same  period  are  very  few.  In 
August  of  1S57,  she  was  made  glad  by  the  birth  of  another 
son,  her  fifth  child.      Her  own  health  was  now  much   better 


IN   THE   SCIIOOI.   OF   SUFFERING.  159 

than  it  had  been  for  a  long  time  ;  but  that  of  her  husband  had 
become  so  enfeebled  that  in  April,  1858,  he  resigned  his  pas- 
toral charge  and  by  the  advice  of  his  physician  determined  to 
go  abroad,  with  his  family,  for  a  couple  of  years ;  the  munificent 
kindness  of  his  people  having  furnished  him  with  the  means 
of  doing  so.  The  tender  sympathy  and  support  which  she 
gave  him  in  this  hour  of  extreme  weakness  and  trial,  more 
than  everything  else,  after  the  blessing  of  Heaven,  upheld  his 
fainting  spirits  and  helped  to  restore  him  at  length  to  his 
chosen  work.  They  set  sail  for  the  old  world  in  the  steam- 
ship Arago,  Capt.  Lines,  June  26th,  amidst  a  cloud  of  friendly 
wishes  and  benedictions. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

IN   RETREAT  AMONG  THE  ALPS. 

1858-1860. 

I. 

Life  abroad.  Letters  about  the  Voyage  and  the  Journey  from  Havre  to  Switzerland. 
Chateau  d'Oex.  Letters  from  there.  The  Chalet  Rosat.  The  Free  Church  of  th( 
Canton  de  Vaud.     Pastor  Panchaud. 

Mrs.  Prentiss  passed  more  than  two  years  abroad,  mostly 
in  Switzerland.  They  were  years  burdened  with  heavy  cares, 
with  ill-health  and  keen  solicitude  concerning  her  husband. 
But  they  were  also  years  hallowed  by  signal  mercies  of  Provi- 
dence, bright  every  now  and  then  with  floods  of  real  sun- 
shine, and  sweetened  by  many  domestic  joys.  Although 
quite  secluded  from  the  world  a  large  portion  of  the  time,  her 
solitude  was  cheered  by  the  constant  arrival  of  letters  from 
home.  During  these  years  also  she  was  first  initiated  into 
full  communion  with  Nature;  and  what  exquisite  pleasure  she 
tasted  in  this  new  experience,  her  own  pen  will  tell.  Indeed, 
this  period  affords  little  of  interest  except  that  which  blos- 
somed out  of  her  domestic  life,  her  friendships,  and  her  love  of 
nature.  She  travelled  scarcely  at  all  and  caught  only  fugitive 
glimpses  of  society  or  of  the  treasures  of  European  art. 

A  few  simple  records,  therefore,  of  her  retired  home-life 
and  of  the  impressions  made  upon  her  by  Alpine  scenery,  as 
contained  in  her  letters,  must  form  the  principal  pcfrt  of  this 
chapter.  Her  correspondence,  while  abroad,  would  make  a 
large  volume  by  itself ;  in  selecting  from  it  what  follows,  the  aim 
has  been  to  present,  as  far  as  possible,  a  continuous  picture  of 
her  European  sojourn,  drawn  by  herself.  Were  a  faithful 
(160) 


IN    RETREAT    AMONG    THE    ALPS.  l6l 

picture  of  its  quiet  yet  variea  scenes  to  be  drawn  by  another 
hand,  it  would  include  features  wholly  omitted  by  her;  feat- 
ures radiant  with  a  light  and  beauty  not  of  earth.  It  would 
reflect  a  sweet  patience,  a  heroic  fortitude,  a  tender  sympathy, 
a  faith  in  God  and  an  upholding,  comforting  influence,  which 
in  sharp  exigencies  the  Christian  wife  and  mother  knows  so 
well  how  to  exercise,  and  which  are  inspired  only  by  the  Lord 
Jesus  Himself. 

The  friend  to  whom  the  following  letter  was  addressed 
years  ago  passed  away  from  earth.  But  her  name  is  still  en- 
shrined in  many  hearts.  The  story  of  her  generous  and  affec- 
tionate kindness,  as  also  that  of  her  children,  would  fill  a 
whole  chapter.  "  You  will  never  know  how  we  have  loved 
and  honored  you  all,  straight  through^'  wrote  Mrs.  Prentiss  to 
one  of  them,  many  years  later. 

How  many  times  during  our  voyage  we  had  occasion   to 

think  of  and  thank  you  and  yours,  a  dozen  sheets  like 

amru7w.  this  would  fail  to  tell  you.     Of  all  your  kind  arrange- 

Wooisey,    j-pjents  for  our  comfort  not  one  failed  of  its  object. 

Havre,  ■' 

July  II,  Whether  the  chair  or  my  sacque  had  most  admirers  I 
^  ^  ■  do  not  know,  but  I  can't  imagine  how  people  ever  get 
across  the  ocean  without  such  consolations  on  the  way.  As  to 
the  grapes  they  kept  perfectly  to  the  last  day  and  proved  deli- 
cious ;  the  box  then  became  a  convenient  receptacle  for  the  chil- 
dren's toys  ;  while  the  cake-box  has  turned  into  a  medicine- 
chest.  We  had  not  so  pleasant  a  voyage  as  is  usual  at  this 
season,  it  being  cold  and  rainy  and  foggy  much  of  the  lime. 
However,  none  of  us  suffered  much  from  sea-sickness — Mr. 
Prentiss  not  in  the  least  ;  his  chief  discomfort  was  from  want 
of  sleep.  On  the  whole,  we  had  a  less  dreary  time  than  we  an- 
ticipated, and  perhaps  the  stupidity  in  which  we  were  engulfed 
for  two  weeks  was  a  wholesome  refuge  from  the  excitement  of 
the  month  previous  to  our  departure.  We  landed  in  a  deluge 
of  lain,  and  tVe  only  article  in  our  possession  that  alarmed  the 
officers  of  the  Custom  House  was  not  the  sewing-machine, 
which  was  hardly  vouchsafed  a  look,  but  your  cake-box.  We 
were  thankful  to  tumble  pell-mell  into  a  carriage,  and  soon  to 
find  ourselves  in  a  comfortable  room,  before  a  blu/.ing  fire.     We 


,52  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

go  round  with  a  phrase-book  and  talk  out  of  it,  so  if  anybody 
ever  asks  vou  what  sort  of  people  the  Prentiss  family  are  and 
what  are  our  conversational  powers,  you  may  safely  and  vera- 
-^iouslv  answer  "They  talk  like  a  book."  M.  already  asks  the 
French  names  of  almost  everything  and  is  very  glad  to  knew 
that  "  we  have  got  at  Europe,"  and  when  asked  how  she  likes 
France,  declares,  "Me  likes  thaC  We  go  off  to  Paris  in  the 
morning.  I  will  let  Mr.  Prentiss  tell  his  own  story.  Meanwhile 
vk  c  send  you  everyone  our  warmest  love  and  thanks. 

After  a  few  days  in  Paris  the  family  hastened  to  Chateau 
d'Oex,  where  New  York  friends  awaited  them.  Chateau  d'Oex 
is  a  mountain  valley  in  the  canton  of  Vaud,  on  the  right  bank 
of  the  Sarine,  tw^enty-two  miles  east  of  Lausanne,  and  is  one 
of  the  loveliest  spots  in  Switzerland.  Aside  from  its  natural 
beauties,  it  has  some  historical  interest.  It  was  once  the 
home  of  the  Counts  of  Gruyere,  and  the  ruins  of  their  ancient 
chateau  are  still  seen  there.  The  Free  church  of  the  village 
was  at  this  time  under  the  care  of  Pastor  Panchaud,  a  favorite 
pupil  and  friend  of  Vinet.  He  was  a  man  of  great  simplicity 
and  sweetness  of  character,  an  excellent  preacher,  and  wholly 
devoted  to  his  little  flock.  Mrs.  Prentiss  and  her  husband 
counted  his  society  and  ministrations  a  smile  of  Heaven  upon 
their  sojourn  in  Chateau  d'Oex. 

Our  ride  from  Havre  to  Paris  was  charming.     We  had  one 

To  Mrs    ^^  those  luxurious  cars,  to  us  unknown,  which  is  in- 

llenry  B.  tended   to    hold    only  eight    persons,   but   which   has 

chatean    room    for    ten  ;    the    weather   was    perfect,    and    tne 

Jt^yts,    scenery  all   the  way  very  lovely  and  quite  novel.     A. 

'^58.      and  I  kept  mourning  for  you  and  M.  to  enjoy  it  with 

us,  and  both  agreed  that  we  would  gladly  see  only  half  there 

was  to  see,  and  go  half  the  distance  we  were  going,  if  we  could 

only  share  with  you  our  pleasures  of  every  kind.    On  reaching 

Paris  and  the  hotel  we  found  we  could  not  get  pleasant  rooms 

below  the  fifth  story.     They  were  directly  opposite  the  garden 

of  theTuileries,  where  birds  were  flying  and  singing,  and  it  was 

hard  to  realise   that  we  were  in  the  midst  of  that  great  city. 

We  went  sight-seeing  very  little.     A.  and  I  strolled  about  here 

and  llicrc,  did  a  little  shopping,  stared  in  at  the  shop  windows 


IN    RETREAT   AMONG    TTTE    A  IPS.  163 

'vished  M.  had  this  and  you  had  that,  and  then  strolled  home 
and  panted  and  toiled  and  groaned  up  our  five  flights,  and  wrote 
in  our  journals,  or  rested,  or  made  believe  study  French.  We 
went  to  the  Jardin  des  Plantes  in  order  to  let  the  children  see 
the  Zoological  Garden.  We  also  drove  through  the  Bois  de 
Boulogne,  and  spent  part  of  an  evening  in  the  garden  of  the 
Palais  Royal,  and  watched  the  people  drinking  their  tea  and 
coffee,  and  having  all  sorts  of  good  times.  We  found  Paris  far 
more  beautiful  than  we  expected,  and  certainly  as  to  cleanli- 
ness it  puts  New  York  ages  behind.  We  were  four  days  in 
coming  from  Paris  to  this  place.  We  went  up  the  lake  of 
Geneva  on  one  of  the  finest  days  that  could  be  asked  for,  and 
then  the  real  joy  of  our  journey  began  ;  Paris  and  all  its  splen- 
dors faded  away  at  once  and  forever  before  these  mountains, 
and  as  George  had  never  visited  Geneva,  or  seen  any  of  this 
scenery,  my  pleasure  was  doubled  by  his.  Imagine,  if  you  can, 
how  we  felt  when  Mt.  Blanc  appeared  in  sight  !  We  reached 
Vevay  just  after  sunset,  and  were  soon  established  in  neat 
rooms  of  quite  novel  fashion.  The  floors  were  of  unpainted 
white  wood,  checked  off  with  black  walnut  ;  the  stairs  were  all 
of  stone,  the  stove  was  of  porcelain,  and  every  article  of  fur- 
niture was  odd.  But  we  had  not  much  time  to  spend  in  look- 
ing at  things  within  doors,  for  the  lake  was  in  full  view,  and 
the  mountain  tops  were  roseate  with  the  last  rays  of  the  set- 
ting sun,  and  the  moon  soon  rose  and  added  to  the  whole  scene 
all  it  wanted  to  make  us  half  believe  ourselves  in  a  pleasant 
dream.  I  often  asked  myself,  "  Can  this  be  I  ! "  "  And  //  it  be 
I,  as  I  hope  it  be  " — 

Early  next  morning,  which  was  dear  little  INI.'s  birthday,  we 
set  off  in  grand  style  for  Chateau  d'Oex.  W^e  hired  a  mon- 
strous voiture  which  had  seats  inside  for  four,  and  on  top,  with 
squeezing,  seats  for  three,  besides  the  driver's  seat ;  had  five 
black  horses,  and  dashed  forth  in  all  our  splendor,  ten  precious 
souls  and  all  agog.  I  made  a  sandwich  between  Mr.  S.  and 
George  on  top,  and  the  "bonnes  "  and  children  were  packed  in- 
side. This  was  our  great  day.  The  weather  was  indescribably 
beautiful  ;  we  felt  ourselves  approaching  a  place  of  rest  and  a 
welcome  home  ;  the  scenery  was  magnificent,  and  already  the 
mountain  air  was  beginning  to  revive  our  exhausted  souls  and 
bodies.     We  sat  all   day  hand   in   hand,  literally 'Most  in  won- 


,64  THK   TJFE    OF    MRS.    PRENTISS. 

der."  With  all  I  had  heard  ever  since  I  was  born  about  these 
mountains,  I  had  not  the  faintest  idea  of  their  real  grandeur 
and  beauty.  We  arrived  here  just  after  sunset,  and  soon  found 
ourselves  among  our  friends.  Mrs.  Buck  brought  us  up  to  our 
new  home,  which  we  reached  on  foot  (as  our  voiture  could  not 
ascend  so  high)  by  a  little  winding  path,  by  the  side  of  which 
a  little  brook  kept  running  along  to  make  music  for  us.  It  is  a 
regular  Swiss  chalet,  much  like  the  little  models  you  have  seen, 
only  of  a  darker  brow^n,  and  on  either  side  the  mountains  stand 
ranged,  so  that  look  where  we  will  w^e  are  feasted  to  our  ut- 
most capacity. 

We  have  four  small,  but  very  neat,  pretty  rooms.  Our  floors 
are  of  unpainted  pine,  as  w^hite  and  clean  as  possible.  The 
room  in  which  we  spend  our  time,  and  where  I  am  now  writing, 

I   must  fully  set  before  you Our  centre  table  has  had  a 

nice  new  red  cover  put  on  it  to-day,  with  a  vase  of  flowers  ;  it 
iK^lds  all  our  books,  and  is  the  ornament  of  the  room.  In  front 
of  the  sofa  is  a  red  rug  on  w^hich  we  say  our  prayers.  Over  it 
is  a  picture,  and  over  G.'s  table  is  another.  Out  of  the  window 
you  see  first  a  pretty  little  flower  garden,  then  the  valley  dotted 
with  brown  chalets,  then  the  background  of  mountains.  Be- 
hind the  house  you  go  up  a  little  winding  path — and  can  go  on 
forever  without  stopping  if  you  choose — along  the  sides  of  which 
flowers  such  as  we  cultivate  at  home  grow  in  profusion  ;  you 
can't  help  picking  them  and  throwing  them  away  to  snatch  a 
new  handful.  The  brook  takes  its  rise  on  this  side,  and  runs 
musically  along  as  you  ascend.  Yesterday  we  all  went  to 
church  at  nine  and  a  half  o'clock,  and  had  our  first  experience 
of  French  preaching,  and  I  was  relieved  to  find  myself  under- 
standing whole  sentences  here  and  there.  And  now  I  need  not, 
I  suppose,  wind  up  by  sayirg  w^e  are  in  a  charming  spot.  All 
we  want,  as  far  as  this  world  goes,  is  health  and  strength  with 
which  to  enjoy  all  this  beauty  and  all  this  sw^eet  retirement, 
and  these,  I  trust,  it  will  give  us  in  time.  Isabella  "wears  like 
gold."  She  is  everything  I  hoped  for,  and  from  her  there  has 
not  been  even  a  tone  of  discomfort  since  we  left.  But  my  back 
aches  and  my  paper  is  full.  We  all  send  heaps  of  love  to  you 
all  and  long  to  licar. 

August  \Qth. — We  breakfast  at  eight  on  bread  and  honey,  Avhich 
\s  the  universal  Swiss  breakfast,  dine  at  one,  and  have  tea  at  seven 


IN    RETREAT    AMOXC.    THE    ALPS.  165 

r  usually  sew  and  read  and  study  all  the  forenoon  After  din- 
ner we  take  our  Alpen-stocks  and  go  up  behind  the  house — a 
bit  of  mountain-climbing  which  makes  me  realise  that  I  am  no 
longer  a  young  girl.  I  get  only  so  high,  and  then  have  to  come 
back  and  lie  down.  George  and  Annie  beat  me  all  to  pieces 
with  their  exploits.  I  do  not  believe  we  could  have  found  any- 
where in  the  world  a  spot  better  adapted  to  our  needs.  How 
you  would  enjoy  it !  I  perfectly  yearn  to  show  you  these 
mountains  and  all  this  green  valley.  The  views  I  send  will 
give  you  a  very  good  idea  of  it,  however.  The  smaller  chillet 
in  the  print  is  ours.  In  a  little  summer  house  opposite  Isa- 
bella now  sits  at  work  on  the  sewing-machine.  My  best  love  to 
all  three  of  your  dear  "chicks,"  and  to  your  husband  if  "he's 
willin'." 


We  slipped  off  without  any  leave-taking,  which  I  wab 
not  sorry  for.  I  did  not  want  to  bid  you  good-bye. 
We  had  to  say  it  far  too  often  as  it  was,  and,  when  we 


To  Mrs. 
//.  B. 


Washburjj,  fairlv  Set  sail  we  had  not  an  emotion  left,  but  sank  at 

Chateait  '  ,  .  .  . 

d'Oex,  once  into  a  state  of  entire  exhaustion  and  stupidity. 
^^itSsS^^'  •  •  •  •  We  thought  Paris  very  beautiful  until  we  came 
in  view  of  the  Lake  of  Geneva,  Mt.  Blanc,  and  other 
handiworks  of  God,  when  straightway  all  its  palaces  and  monu- 
ments and  fountains  faded  into  insignificance.  I  began  to  fee 
that  it  was  wicked  for  a  few  of  my  friends,  who  were  born  to 
enjoy  the  land  of  lakes  and  mountains,  not  to  be  here  enjoying 
it,  and  you  were  one  of  them,  you  may  depend.  However, 
whenever  I  have  had  any  such  pangs  of  regret  in  relation  to 
you,  I  have  consoled  myself  with  the  reflection  that  with  your  en- 
thusiastic temperament,  artist  eye,  and  love  of  nature,  you  never 
would  survive  even  a  glimpse  of  Switzerland  ;  the  land  of  William 
Tell  would  be  the  death  of  you.  When  you  are  about  eighty 
years  old,  luive  cooled  down  about  ten  degrees  below  zero,  have 
got  a  little  dim  about  the  eyes,  and  a  little  stiff  about  the  knees 
it  may  possibly  be  safe  for  you  to  come  and  break  yourself  in 
gradually,  I  have  not  forgotten  how  you  felt  and  what  you 
did  at  the  White  Mountains,  you  see. 

Well,  joking  apart,  we  are  in  a  spot  that  would  just  suit  you 
in  every  respect.  We  are  not  in  a  street  or  a  road  or  any  of 
those  abominations    you   like    to   shun,  but    our   little  chalet 


l66  THE    LIFE    OF    MRS.    PRENTISS. 

nardly  accessible  save  on  foot,  is  just  tucked  down  on  the  side 
of  the  gentle  slope  leading  up  the  mountain.  It  is  remote  from 
all  sights  but  those  magnificent  ones  afforded  b}'  the  range 
of  mountains,  the  green  rich  valley,  and  the  ever-varying  sky 
and  cloudland,  and  all  sounds  save  that  of  a  brook  which  runs 
hurrying  down  its  rocky  little  channel  and  keeps  us  company 
when  we  want  it.  I  ought,  however,  to  add  that  my  view  of 
this  particular  valley  is  that  of  a  novice.  People  say  the  scen- 
ery here  is  tame  in  comparison  with  what  may  be  seen  else- 
where ;  but  look  which  way  I  will,  from  front  windows  or  back 
windows,  at  home  or  abroad,  I  am  as  one  at  a  continual  feast ; 
and  what  more  can  one  ask  ?  Mr.  Prentiss  feels  that  this  se- 
cluded spot  is  just  the  place  for  him,  and  as  it  is  a  good  point 
from  which  to  make  excursions  on  foot  or  otherw^ise,  he  and 
Mr.  Stearns  have  already  made  several  trips  and  seen  splendid 
sights.  How  much  we  have  to  be  grateful  for  !  For  my  part, 
I  would  rather — far  rather — have  come  here  and  stayed  here 
blindfold,  than  not  to  have  come  with  my  dear  husband.  So 
all  I  have  seen  and  am  experiencing  I  regard  as  beauty  and  fe- 
licity thrown  in. 

T   wish   we  had   3^ou,   my   dear   mother,   here   among   these 

mountains,   for  the  cool,   bracing   air  would   help  to 

^AH^ai'i    build  you  up.     Both  Mr.   Stearns    and   George   have 

Prentiss,   comc  back  from  Germany  looking:  better  than  when 

CJialeau       ,  ^  ^     .  .  f  t     ,  i 

d'Oex,  they  started  on  their  trip  two  weeks  ago.  It  has  been 
^\%k  "^^O'  cold  ;  the  thermometer  some  mornings  at  eight 
o'clock  standing  at  46°,  and  the  mountains  being  all 
covered  with  snow.  We  slept  with  a  couple  of  bottles  of  hot 
water  at  our  feet,  and  two  blankets  and  a  comforter  of  eider- 
down over  us,  after  going  to  bed  early  to  get  warm.  My  sew- 
ing-machine is  a  great  comfort,  and  the  peasants  enjoy  coming 
down  from  the  mountains  to  see  it.  Besides,  I  find  something 
lo  do  on  it  every  day. 

I  often  wish  I  could  set  you  down  in  the  midst  of  the  church 
to  which  we  go  every  Sunday,  if  only  to  show  you  how  the  peo- 
ple dress.  A  bonnet  is  hardly  seen  there  ;  everybody  wearing 
a  black  silk  cap  or  a  bloomer,  /wear  a  bloomer  ;  a  brown  one 
trimmed  with  brown  ribbon.  An  old  lady  sits  in  front  of  me 
A^ho  wears  a  white  cap  much  after  the  fashion  of  yours,  and  on 


IN    RETREAT    AMONG    THE    ALPS.  l6 


top  of  that  is  perked  a  monstrous  bloomer  trimmed  with  black 
gauze  ribbon.  Her  dress  is  linsey-woolsey,  and  for  outside  gar- 
ment she  wears  a  black  silk  half-handkerchief,  as  do  all  the 
rest.  No  light  dress  or  ribbon  is  seen.  I  must  tell  you  now 
something  that  amused  A.  and  me  very  much  yesterday  at 
dinner.  A  French  gentleman,  who  married  a  Spanish  lady  four 
years  ago,  sits  opposite  us  at  the  table,  and  he  and  his  wife  are 
quite  fascinated  w^ith  M.,  watch  all  her  motions,  and  whisper 
together  about  all  she  does.  Yesterday  they  got  to  telling  us 
that  the  lady  had  been  married  when  only  twelve  years  old  to 
a  gentleman  of  thirty-tw'O,  had  two  children,  and  was  a  grand- 
mother, though  not  yet  thirty-six  years  old.  She  said  she  car- 
ried her  doll  with  her  to  her  husband's  house,  and  he  made  her 
learn  a  geography  lesson  every  day  till  she  was  fourteen,  when 
she  had  a  baby  of  her  own.  I  asked  her  if  she  loved  her  hus- 
band, and  she  said  "  Oh,  yes,"  only  he  was  very  grave  and 
scolded  her  and  shut  her  up  w^hen  she  wouldn't  learn  her  les- 
sons. She  said  that  her  owm  mother  w^hen  thirty-six  years  old 
had  fourteen  children,  all  of  whom  are  now  living,  twelve  of 
them  boys,  and  that  the  laws  of  Spain  allow  the  father  of  six 
sons  to  ask  a  favor  for  them  of  the  King,  but  the  father  of 
twelve  may  ask  a  favor  for  each  one  ;  so  every  one  of  her 
brothers  had  an  office  under  the  Government  or  was  an  officer 
in  the  army.  I  don't  know  when  I  have  been  more  amused,  for 
she,  like  all  foreigners,  was  full  of  life  and  gesture,  and  show^ed 
us  how  she  tore  her  hair  and  threw-  down  her  books  when  angry 
with  her  husband. 

The  children  are  all  bright  and  w^ell.  The  first  time  we  took 
the  cars  after  landing,  M.  was  greatly  delighted.  "  Now  w^e're 
going  to  see  grandma,"  she  cried.  Mrs.  Buck  got  up  a  pic- 
nic for  her,  and  had  a  treat  of  raspberries  and  sponge-cake — 
frosted.  The  cake  had  "  M."  on  the  top  in  red  letters.  Baby 
is  full  of  life  and  mischief.  The  day  we  landed  he  said  "  Papa," 
and  now  he  says  "Mamma."  Isabella'  is  everything  we  could 
ask.  She  is  trying  to  learn  French,  and  A.  hears  her  recite  ev- 
ery night,  George  found  some  furnished  rooms  at  Montrcux, 
which  he  has  taken  for  six  months  from  October,  and  we  shall 
thus,  be  keeping  house.  A.  has  just  rushed  in  and  snatched  her 
French   Bible,  as  she  is  going  to  the  evening  service  with  some 

'  A  most  faithful  servant,  to  whom  Mrs.  P.  was  greatly  attached. 


r68  THE    LIFE    OF    MliS.    I'REXTLSS. 

of  the  English   family.     You  will  soon  hear  all  about  us  from 
Mr.  Stearns. 

The  following  letter  will  show  how  little  powder  either  hei 
own  cares,  or  the  charms  of  nature  around  her,  had  to  quench 
her  sympathy  for  friends  in  sorrow : 

We  received  your  kind  letter  this  morning.  We  had  already 
To  Miss  A  ^^^  ^^^  sympathies  excited  in  behalf,  of  you  all,  by 
//.  Wcoisey,  seeing  a  notice  of  the  death  of  the  dear  little  child  in 

Chateau  ,  ,        -« ,r         x-.       i  i 

D'Oex,  Scpt.Sc  paper  lent  to  us  by  Mrs.  Buck,  and  were  most  anx- 
".  1858.  j^^g  ^Q  \).^2lX  all  the  particulars  you  have  been  so  good 
as  to  give  us.  This  day,  which  fifteen  years  ago  we  marked 
with  a  white  stone,  and  which  we  were  to  celebrate  with  all 
our  hearts,  has  passed  quite  wearily  and  drearily.  There  is 
something  indescribably  sad  in  the  details  of  the  first  bereave- 
ment which  has  fallen  within  the  circle  of  those  w^e  \ov^  ;  per- 
haps, too,  old  sorrows  of  our  own  clamored  for  a  hearing  ;  and 
then,  too,  there  was  the  conviction,  "  This  is  not  all  death  will 
do  while  the  ocean  severs  you  from  kindred  and  friends."  We 
longed  to  speak  to  you  many  words  of  affectionate  sympathy 
and  Christian  cheer  ;  but  long  before  we  can  make  them  reach 
you,  I  trust  you  will  have  felt  sure  that  you  were  at  least  re- 
membered and  prayed  for.  It  is  a  comfort  that  no  ocean  sepa- 
rates us  from  Him  who  has  afflicted  you.  The  loss  to  you  each 
and  all  is  very  great,  but  to  the  mother  of  such  a  child  it  is 
beyond  description.  Faith  alone  can  bear  her  through  it,  but 
faith  can.  What  a  wonderful  little  creature  the  sweet  Ellie 
must  have  been  !  We  were  greatly  touched  by  your  account 
of  her  singing  that  beautiful  hymn.  It  must  have  been  divinely 
ordered  that  she  should  leave  such  a  precious  legacy  behind 
her.  And  though  her  loveliness  makes  her  loss  the  greater,  the 
loss  of  an  unlovely  wayward  child  would  surely  be  a  heavier 
grief. 

I  never  know  where  to  stop  when  I  begin  to  talk  about  the 
tleath  of  a  little  one  ;  but  before  I  stop  I  want  to  ask  you  to 
t(.ll  Mrs.  li.  one  word  from  me,  which  will  not  surprise  and 
will  perhaps  comfort  her.  It  is  this.  Neither  his  father  nor 
myself  would  be  willing  to  have  God  now  bereave  us  of  the 
rich  experience  of  seven  years  ago,  when  our  noble  little  boy 
was  taken   away.     We   have  often  said  this  to  each  other,^and 


IN    RETREAT    AMONG   THE    ALPS.  i6q 

ottener  said  it  to  Him,  who  if  He  took,  also  gave  much.  But 
after  all,  we  can  not  sajf  much  to  comfort  either  Mrs.  H.  or  you. 
We  can  only  truly,  heartily  and  always  sympathise  with  you, 
....  Mr.  Prentiss  and  Mr.  Stearns  have  spent  a  fortnight  in 
jaunting  about  ;  beginning  at  Thun  and  ending  at  Munich. 
They  both  came  home  looking  fresher  and  better  than  when 
they  left,  but  Mr.   P.  is  not  at  all  well   now,  and  will  have  his 

nps  and  downs,  I  suppose,  for  a  long  time  to  come We 

can  step  out  at  any  moment  into  a  beautiful  path,  and,  turn 
which  way  we  wall,  meet  something  charming.  Yesterday  he 
came  back  for  me,  having  found  a  new  walk,  and  we  took  oui 
sticks,  and  went  to  enjoy  it  together  till  we  got,  as  it  were^ 
fairly  locked  in  by  the  mountains,  and  could  go  no  further. 
Only  to  think  of  having  such  things  as  gorges  and  water-falls 
and  roaring  brooks,  right  at  your  back  door  !  The  seclusion  of 
this  whole  region  is,  however,  its  great  charm  to  us,  and  to  tell 
the  truth,  the  primitive  simplicity  of  style  of  dress,  etc.,  is 
quite  as  charming  to  me  as  its  natural  beauty.  We  took  tea 
one  night  last  week  wath  the  pastor  of  the  Free  church  ;  he 
lives  in  a  house  for  which  lie  pays  thirty  dollars  a  year,  and  we 
were  quite  touched  and  pleased  with  his  style  of  living  ;  white 
pine  walls  and  floors,  unpainted,  and  everything  else  to  match. 
We  took  our  tea  at  a  pine  table,  and  the  drawing-room  to 
which  we  retired  from  it,  w^as  a  corner  of  the  same  room,  where 
was  a  little  mite  of  a  sofa  and  a  few  books,  and  a  cheerful  lamp 
burning. 

All  this  time  I  have  not  answered  your  question  about  the 
Fourth  of  July.  We  had  great  doings,  I  assure  you.  Mr.  P. 
made  a  speech,  and  ran  up  and  down  the  saloon  like  a  war 
horse.  He  was  so  excited  and  pale  that  I  did  not  enjoy  it 
much,  thinking  any  instant  he  would  faint  and  fall.  Mr. 
Cleaveland  was  the  orator  of  the  day  and  acquitted  himself 
very  well,  they  all  said.  I  was  in  my  berth  at  the  time  of  its 
delivery,  saving  myself  for  the  dinner  and  toasts,  and  so  did 
not  hear  it.  The  whole  affair  is  to  be  printed.  There  was  a 
great  cry  of  "Prentiss!  Prentiss!"  after  the  "Captain's  din- 
ner," and  at  last  the  poor  man  had  to  respond  in  a  sh'irl 
speech  to  a  toast  to  the  ladies.  I  suppose  you  know  that  he 
considers  all  women  as  angels.  Mr.  Stearns  left  us  on  Thursday 
to  set  his  face  homewards. 


I/O  THE    LIFE   OF   MFlS.    PRENTISS. 


II. 


Montreux.     The  Swiss  Autumn.     Castle  of  Chillon.     Death  and  Sorrow  of  Friends  at 
Home.     Twilight  Talks,     Spring  Flowers. 

Early  in  October  the  family  removed  to  Montreux,  at  the 
upper  end  of  the  lake  of  Geneva,  where  the  next  six  months 
were  passed  in  what  was  then  known  as  the  Maison  des  Bains. 
Montreux  was  at  this  time  the  centre  of  a  group  of  pleasant 
villages,  scattered  along  the  shore  of  the  lake,  or  lying  back 
of  it  among  the  hills.  One  of  these  villages,  Clarens,  was 
rendered  famous  in  the  last  century  by  the  pen  of  Rousseau, 
and  early  in  this  by  the  pen  of  Byron.  The  grave  of  Vinet, 
the  noble  leader  and  theologian  of  the  Free  Church  of  the 
canton  of  Vaud,  now  renders  the  spot  sacred  to  the  Chris- 
tian scholar.  Montreux  was  then  a  favorite  resort  of  invalids 
in  quest  of  a  milder  climate.  At  many  points  it  commands 
fine  views  of  the  lake,  and  the  whole  region  abounds  in  pic- 
turesque scenery.  The  Maison  des  Bains  is  said  to  have  long 
since  disappeared;  but  in  1858,  it  seemed  to  hang  upon  the 
side  of  the  Montreux  hill  and  was  one  of  the  most  noticeable 
features  of  the  landscape,  as  seen  from  the  passing  steamer. 

Your  letter  was  a  real  comfort  and  I  am  so  thankful  to  the 

To  Mrs     "^^^   \.\^2X  invented   letter-writing  that  I  don't  know 

Henry  B.   what  to  do.     We  feast  on  evervthinor  we  hear  from 

Montreux,  nome,  however  sick,  or  weak  ;  it  is  a  sort  of  sea-air 

^'^'^vZi^'  appetite.    Your  letters  are  not  a  thousandth  part  long 

enough,  but  if  you  wrote  all  the  time  I  suppose  they 

wouldn't  be You  see  I  am  experimenting  with  two  kinds 

of  ink,  hoping  my  letters  may  be  more  easy  to  read.  George 
tried  it  the  other  day  by  writing  me  a  little  note,  telling  me 
first  how  he  loved  me  in  black  ink  and  then  how  he  loved  me 
in  blue,  after  which  he  tore  it  up  ;  wasn't  that  a  shame  ?  Anna 
writes  that  you  seemed  miserable  the  day  she  was  at  your 
house.  The  fact  is,  people  of  such  restless  mental  activity  as 
you  and  I,  my  dear,  never  need  expect  to  be  well  long  at  a  time 
—for,  as  soon  as  we  get  a  little  health  we  consume  it  just  as 
children   do  candy.     George  and   I   are  both  able,  however,  tc 


IN   RETREAT   AMONG   THE   ALPS.  l/l 

take  long  walks,  and  the  other  day  we  went  to  see  the  castle  ol 
Chillon.  I  was  much  impressed  with  all  I  saw.  Under  Byron's 
name,  which  I  saw  on  one  of  the  columns,  there  were  the  ini- 
tials "  H.  B.  S."— "  H.  B.  Smith,"  says  I.  "  You  don't  say  so  !  " 
cries  George,  "  where  ?  let  me  see — oh,  I  don't  think  it  can  be 
his,  for  here  are  some  more  letters,"  which  I  knew  all  the  time, 
but  for  all  that  H.  B.  S.  does  stand  for  H.  B.  Smith.  There  are 
ever  so  many  charming  walks  about  here  and  from  some  points 
the  scenery  is  wonderfully  picturesque.  I  ne\er  was  in  the 
country  so  late  as  to  see  the  trees  after  a  frost,  and  although 
the  foliage  here  is  less  brilliant,  it  is  said,  than  that  of  Ameri- 
can forests,  I  find  it  hard  to  believe  that  there  can  be  anything 
more  beautiful  than  the  wooded  mountains  covered  with  the 
softest  tints  of  every  shade  and  coloring  interspersed  with 
snowcapped  peaks  and  bare,  gray  rocks.  The  glory  has  de- 
parted somewhat  within  two  days,  as  we  have  had  a  little 
snow-storm,  and  the  leaves  have  fallen  sadly.  We  began  to 
have  a  fire  yesterday  and  to  put  on  some  of  our  winter  cloth- 
ing ;  yet  roses  bloom  just  outside  our  door,  and  mignonette, 
nasturtiums,  and  a  variety  of  other  flowers  adorn  every  house. 
The  Swiss  love  for  flowers  is  really  beautiful.  I  wish  you  would 
let  the  children  go  to  the  hot-house  which  they  pass  on  the  way 
from  school  and  get  me  some  flower-seeds,  as  it  will  be  pleas- 
ant to  me  to  have  the  means  of  giving  pleasure.  I  presume 
the  gardener  would  be  able  to  select  a  dozen  or  so  of  American 
varieties  which  would  be  a  treasure  here.  I  amuse  myself  with 
making  flower-pictures,  with  which  to  enliven  our  parlor,  and 
assure  you  that  these  works  of  art  are  remarkable  specimens 
of  genius.  I  do  not  know  where  the  time  goes,  but  I  do  not 
have  half  enough  of  it,  or  else  do  not  understand  the  art  of 
making  the  most  of  it.     We  have  just  subscribed  to  a  library 

at  a  franc  a  month,  and  hope  to  read  a  little  French I 

suppose  Z.  will  be  a  regular  young  lady  by  the  time  we  come 
home,  and  that  I  shall  be  afraid  of  her,  as  I  am  of  all  you  no; 
ladies.  How  nicely  she  and  M.  would  look  in  the  jaunty  little 
hats  they  all  wear  here.  I  wonder  if  the  fashion  will  stretch 
across  the  ocean  ?  I  dare  say  it  will.  Never  was  there  any- 
thing so  becoming  in  the  world. 

We  were  glad  to  hear  from  yov/r  last  letter  that  you  are  all 


1^2  THE   LIFE   OF    MRS.  PRENTISS. 

To  Mrs  ^^  ^^^^^'  ^"^  especially  to  hear  such  good  accounts  ol 
Stearns,  Mr.  Stearns.  It  is  a  real  comfort  to  us  to  find  that  his 
^Xov.^C  little  trip  has  done  him  so  much  good.  I  was  sorry 
'^58-  to  hear  of  the  loss  of  that  friend  of  the  Thurstons  in 
the  Austria,  for  I  heard  Ellen  speak  of  her  in  the  most  raptur 
ous  manner.  This  world  is  full  of  mysteries.  Only  to  think 
of  the  shock  George  received  when  expecting  to  meet  Mr. 
Butler  in  Paris  and  perhaps  spend  several  weeks  with  him 
there,  he  heard  at  Geneva  the  news  of  his  sudden  death  !  '  He 
loved  and  honored  Mr.  B.  most  warmly  and  truly.  You  will 
remember  that  the  latter  came  abroad  on  account  of  the  health 
of  his  daughter  ;  her  younger  sister  accompanied  them,  and 
they  were  all  full  of  the  brightest  anticipations.  But  the  same 
steamer  which  brought  them  over,  carried  home  his  remains 
on  the  next  trip,  and  those  two  poor  young  girls  are  left  in  a 
strange  land,  afflicted  and  disappointed  and  alone.  Mr.  Butler 
died  a  most  peaceful  and  happy  death,  and  George  was  very 
glad  to  be  in  Paris  in  time  to  comfort  the  young  ladies,  who 
were  perfectly  delighted  to  see  him.  He  got  back  yester- 
day very  much  exhausted  and  has  spent  most  of  the  day  on 
the  sofa.  A.  has  a  teacher  who  comes  three  times  a  week  from 
Vevay,  and  spends  most  of  the  day.  She  is  a  young  lady  of 
about  twenty-five,  well  educated  and  accustomed  to  teaching, 
and  has  taken  hold  of  x\.  with  no  little  energy.  She  can  not 
speak  a  word  of  English.  Tell  your  A.  we  can't  get  over  it 
that  the  horses,  dogs  and  cats  here  all  understand  French.  I 
have  been  ever  so  busy  fixing  and  fussing  for  winter,  which 
has  come  upon  us  all  in  a  rush.  Isabella  has  been  bewitched 
for  about  a  week,  having  got  at  last  a  letter  from  her  beau,  and 
every  speck  of  work  she  has  done  on  the  sewing  machine  was 
either  wrongside  out  or  upside  down.  While  George  was 
gone  I  made  up  a  lot  of  flower-pictures  to  adorn  the  walls 
of  our  parlor;  he  is  walking  about  admiring  them,  and  I  wish 
you  would  drop  in  and  help  him.  He  had  a  real  homesick  fit 
to  see  you  all   to-day,   feeling  so  tired  after  his  journey  ;  but 

'  The  Hon.  Benjamin  F.  Butler,  of  New  York,  was  one  of  the  most  honored  members 
of  the  Mercer  street  church.  He  was  known  throug:hout  the  counti7  as  an  eminent 
lawyer  and  patriotic  citizen.  In  the  circle  of  his  friends  he  was  admired  and  beloved  for 
his  singular  purity  of  cliaracter,  liis  scholarly  tastes,  the  kindness  of  his  heart,  and  all  the 
other  fine  qualities  that  gn  to  form  the  Christian  g-entleman.  During  a  portion  of  Pres- 
ident Jackson's  administration  Mr.  Butler  was  Attorney-General  of  the  United  States. 
He  died  in  the  srxty-third  year  of  hia  age. 


IN    RETREAT   AMONG   THE   ALPS. 


173 


seems  brighter  to-night,  and  promises  faithfully  to  get  well 
now,  right  off. 

Dec.  ^th. — The  death  of  Sarah  P.  must  have  excited  all 
your  sympathies.  The  loss  of  a  little  child— and  I  shudder 
when  I  recall  the  pangs  of  such  a  loss  ! — can  be  nothing  in  com- 
parison with  such  an  affliction  as  this.  I  well  remember  what 
a  bright  young  thing  she  was.  Her  poor  mother's  grief  and 
amazement  must  be  all  the  greater  for  the  fact  of  the  perfect 
vigor  and  sound  health  which  had,  as  it  were,  assured  her  of 
long  life  and  happiness  and  usefulness.  I  had  an  inexpressible 
sadness  upon  me  as  soon  as  I  heard  that  she  was  dangerously 
ill  ;  often  in  such  moments  one  bitterly  realises  that  all  this 
world's  idols  are  likewise  perishable. 

A.'s  teacher  gives  lessons  also  in  a  family  half  an  hour  from 
Vevay,  who  are  going  to  Germany  to  spend  a  year,  and  she 
gave  such  an  account  of  the  place,  that  George  let  her  per- 
suade him  into  going  to  see  it,  as  the  owner  desired  to  rent  il 
during  his  absence.  He  took  A.  with  him,  as  I  could  not  go. 
They  came  back  in  ecstasies,  and  have  both  set  their  hearts  so 
on  taking  it  that  I  should  not  at  all  wonder  if  that  should  be 
the  end.  We  left  some  of  our  things  at  Chateau  d'Oex,  fully 
expecting  to  return  there,  but  this  Vevay  country  seat  with  its 
cherry,  apple  and  pear  trees,  its  seclusion,  its  vicinity  to  read- 
ing-room and  library,  has  quite  disgusted  George  with  the  idea 
of  spending  another  summer  "en  pension."  The  family  en- 
tertained G.  and  A.  very  hospitably,  gave  them  a  lunch  of 
bologna  sausage,  bread  and  butter,  cake,  wine  and  grapes,  and 
above  all,  the  little  girls  gave  A.  two  little  Guinea  pigs,  which 
you  may  imagine  filled  her  with  delight.  The  whole  affair  was 
very  agreeable  to  her,  as  she  had  not  spoken  to  a  child  (save 
M.)  since  we  came  to  Montreux. 

January  3^,  1859. — We  read  your  letter,  written  at  Bedford, 
with  no  little  interest  and  sympathy.  While  we  could  not  but 
rejoice  that  one  more  saint  had  got  safely  and  without  a  strug- 
gle home,  we  felt  the  exceeding  disappointment  you  must  have 
had  in  losing  the  last  smile  you  came  so  near  receiving.'  I 
think  you  had  a  sort  of  presentiment  last  winter  what  this  one 
might   bf'ng  forth,  for  I   remember  your  saying  it  would  prob- 

'  Referring  to  the  death  uf  Dr.  Stearns'  motlier,  Mrs.  Abigail  Stearns,  of    Bedford 
Mass. 


174  THE    LIFE   OF   MRS.    niENTISS. 

ably  be  the  last  visit  to  you,  and  that  you  wanted  to  make  it  as 
pleasant  as  possible.  And  pleasant  I  do  not  doubt  you  and  the 
whole  household  made  it  to  her.  Still  there  always  will  be  re- 
grets and  vain  wishes  after  the  death  of  one  we  love.  What  a 
pity  that  we  can  not  be  to  our  friends  while  they  live  all  we 
wish  we  had  been  after  they  have  gone  !  George  and  I  feel  an 
almost  childish  clinging  to  mother,  while  we  hope  and  believe 
she  will  live  to  bless  us  if  we  ever  return  home. 

Jan.  2^d. — We  have  been  afflicted  in  the  sudden  death  of  our 
dear  friend,  Mrs.  Wainwright.  The  news  came  upon  us  with- 
out preparation — for  she  was  ill  only  a  few  days — and  was  a 
great  shock  to  us.  You  and  mother  know  what  she  was  to  us 
during  the  whole  time  of  our  acquaintance  with  her  ;  I  loved 
her  most  heartily.  I  can  not  get  over  the  saddening  impression 
which  such  deaths  cause,  by  receiving  new  ones  ;  our  lives 
here  are  so  quiet  and  uneventful,  that  we  have  full  leisure  to 
meditate  on  the  breaches  already  made  in  our  circle  of  friends 
at  home,  and  to  forebode  many  more  such  sorrowful  tidings. 
Mrs.  Wainwright  was  like  a  mother  to  me,  and  I  am  too  old  to 
take  up  a  new  friend  in  her  place. ^ 

I  do  not  know  whether  I  mentioned  the  afflictions  of  my 
cousin  H.  They  have  been  very  great,  and  have  excited  my 
sympathies  keenly.  Her  first  child  died  when  eighteen  months 
old,  after  a  feeble,  suffering  life.  Then  the  second  child,  an 
amiable,  loving  creature — I  almost  see  her  now  sitting  up  so 
straight  with  her  morsel  of  knitting  in  her  hands  ! — she  was 
taken  sick  and  died  in  five  days.  Her  sister,  about  eight  years 
old,  came  near  dying  of  grief  ;  she  neither  played,  ate  or  slept, 
and  llicy  wrote  me  that  her  wails  of  anguish  were  beyond  de- 
scription. Just  as  she  was  getting  a  little  over  the  first  shock, 
the  little  boy,  then  about  three  years  old,  died  suddenly  of 
croup.  Poor  H.  is  almost  broken-hearted.  I  have  felt  dread- 
fully at  bcinn^  away  when  she  was  so  afflicted  ;  they  had  not 
been  long  enough  in  New  York  to  have  a  minister  of  their  own, 
and  they  all  said,  oh,  if  George  and  I  had  only  been  there  ! 

Her  IctttTs  duriuL^  the  rest  of  the  winter  are  tinged  with 
the   sadness  caused   by  these  and   other  distressing  afflictions 

'  Mrs.  Wainwrifjht  and  her  husband,  the  late  Eli  Wainwright,  were  members  of  the 
old  Mercer  street  Presbyterian  church,  and  both  of  them  unweaiied  in  their  kindness  tc 
Mrs.  Prentiss  jnd  her  husband. 


IN   RETREAT   AMONG   THE   ALPS.  175 

among  friends  at  home.  Her  sympathies  were  kept  under  a 
constant  strain.  But  her  letters  contain  also  many  gleams  of 
sunshine.  Although  very  quiet  and  secluded,  and  ofteM 
troubled  by  torturing  neuralgic  pains,  as  well  as  by  sudden 
shocks  of  grief,  her  life  at  Montreux  was  not  without  its  c\v\i 
peculiar  joys.  One  of  the  greatest  of  these  was  to  while. 
away  the  twilight  or  evening  hours  in  long  talks  with  her  hus^ 
band  about  home  cUid  former  days.  Distance,  together  with 
the  strange  Alpine  scenes  about  her,  seemed  to  have  the 
effect  of  a  score  of  years  in  separating  her  from  the  past,  and 
throwing  over  it  a  mystic  veil  of  tenderness  and  grace.  Old 
times  and  old  friends,  when  thus  viewed  from  the  beautiful 
shores  of  Lake  Leman,  appeared  to  the  memory  in  a  softened 
light  and  invested  with  something  of  that  ideal  loveliness 
which  the  grave  itself  imparts  to  the  objects  of  our  affections. 
Many  of  these  old  friends,  indeed,  had  passed  through  the 
grave — some,  long  before,  some  recently — and  to  talk  of  them 
was  sweet  talk  about  the  blessed  home  above,  as  well  as  the 
home  beyond  the  ocean. 

Another  joy  that  helped  to  relieve  the  monotony  and 
weariness  of  the  Montreux  life,  was  in  her  children;  especially 
as,  on  the  approach  of  spring,  she  wandered  with  them  over 
the  hill-sides  in  quest  of  flowers ;  then  her  delight  knew  no 
bounds.  In  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Washburn,  dated  March  19,  she 
writes : 

M,  and  G.  catch  A.'s  and  my  enthusiasm,  and  come  with  their 
little  hands  full  of  dandelions,  buttercups  and  daisies,  and  their 
hats  full  of  primroses.  Even  Mr.  Prentiss  comes  in  with  his 
hands  full  of  crocuses,  purple  and  white,  and  lots  of  an  ex- 
tremely pretty  flower,  "la  fille  avant  la  mere,"  which  he  gathers 

on  the  mountains  where  I  can  not  climb I  often  think  of 

you  and  Mrs.  B ,  when  I  revel  among  the  beautiful  profu- 
sion of  flowers  with  which  this  country  is  adorned.  So  early 
as  it  is,  the  hills  and  fields  are  covered  \\\\.\i  primroses,  daisies, 
cowslips,  violets,  lilies,  and  I  don't  know  what  not  ;  in  five 
minutes  we  can  gather  a  basketful. 


176  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

III. 

Scarlet-fever  among  the  Children.     Doctor  Curchod.     Letters. 

AT  the  end  of  March  the  family  removed  to  the  campagne 
Genevrier,  about  two  miles  back  of  Vevay,  in  the  di^rect.on  of 
St  Le^cr  At  one  point  it  overlooked  the  town  and  the  lake, 
and  commanded  a  fine  view  of  the  mountains  of  Savoy  arid  of 
the  distant  Jura  range.  On  the  opposite  shore  of  the  lake  is 
the  village  where  Lord  Byron  passed  some  time  in  1816,  and 
where  he  is  said  to  have  written  the  wonderful  description  o 
a  thuncler-storm.'in  th?  third  canto  of  Childe  Harold.  At  all 
exents  the  very  scene,  so  vividly  dC?i?ted  by  him,  was  witnessed 
from  Genevrier.'  '-« 

,r         ,  ,        -I--       I-  -1  nrty  went  off,  fol- 

Your  letter  describing^  how  nicely  your  pa*-,   ^     ^ 

r  AT      .  \          ^'        ■  "'^  here  m  our 

^  ,,  ,     lowed  us  from  Montreux,  to  enliven  uv,    , 
Jo  Mrs.  ^    '  ^een  there. 

atearm,    new  home.     We  only  wish  we  could  have  t>  ' 

Genevrier,   ,^  ^  ,  ,        •       j   r  •     •  ^Viany  de- 

Apriis,    You  need  not  have  apologised  for  giving  so  "l.^.,     ,.. 

'^59'       tails,  for  it  is  just  such  little  events  of  your  da^  / 

that  we  want  to  hear  about.     My  mouth  quite  waters  for  , 

of  the  cake  they  sent  you  ;  I  remember  Mrs.  Dr.  J.  and  otx^ 

used   to   send  us   big   loaves   which   were   delicious,  and   si 

as  I  never  tasted  out  of  Newark.     We  came  here  last  Thursd;^  f 

f^ri 
in  a  great  snow-storm,  which  was  cheerless  and  cold  enoug' 

after  the  warm  weather  we  had  had  for  so  many  weeks.     I  dc\, 

not  suppose  more  snow  fell  on  any  day  through  the  winter,  and\ 

we  all  shivered  and  lamented  and  huddled  over  the  fire  at  a 

great  rate.     Yet  I  have  just  been  driven  in-doors  by  the  heat 

of  the  sun,  having  begun  to  write  at  a  little  table  just  outside 

the  house,  and  fires  and  snow  have  disappeared.     George  has 

gone  to  town  with  Jules  in  the  wagon  to  buy  sugar,  oil,  oats, 

buttons,  and  I  do  not  know  what  not,  and  is  no  doubt  thinking 

1  "  Far  along, 
From  peak  to  peak,  the  rattling  crags  among, 

Leaps  the  live  thunder !     Not  from  one  lone  cloud, 
But  evcr>'  mountain  now  hath  found  a  tongue. 
And  Jura  answers,  through  her  misty  shroud, 
Back  to  tlie  joyous  Alps,  which  call  to  her  aloud  I " 


IN    RKTREx\T    AMONG   THE   ALPS. 


"^n 


le's 


of  you  all  ;  for  we  do  nothing  but  cry  out  how  we  wish  you 
were  here  with  us  to  enjoy  this  beautiful  spot.  We  are  entire- 
ly surrounded  by  mountains  in  the  distance,  and  with  green 
fields,  vineyards,  and  cultivated  grounds  nearer  home.  How 
your  children  would  delight  in  the  flowers,  the  white  dove 
the  seven  little  tiny  guinea  pigs,  no  bigger  than  your  Ann 
hand  shut  up,  and  the  ample,  neat  play-places  all  about  us.  I 
can't  tell  you  how  George  and  I  enjoy  seeing  M.  trotting  about, 
so  eager  and  so  happy,  and  gathering  up,  as  we  hope,  health 
and  strength  every  hour  !  We  find  the  house,  on  the  whole, 
very  convenient,  and  it  is  certainly  as  pleasant  as  can  be  ;  every 
room  cheerful  and  every  window  commanding  a  view  which  is 
ravishing. 

You  will  be  surprised,  I  dare  say,  to  hear  that  I  am  writing 
To  Mrs.  ^^^  °^  doors  ;  I  can  hardly,  myself,  believe  that  it  is 
Smii/i,     possible  to  do  so  with  comfort  and  safety  at  this  sea- 

Genevricr,  ,  •' 

April  7,  son,  but  it  is  perfectly  charming  weather,  neither  cold 
^  ^^'  or  hot,  and  with  a  small  shawl  and  my  bloomer  on,  I 
am  out  a  large  part  of  the  day.  You  would  fly  here  in  a  bal- 
loon if  you  knew  what  a  beautiful  spot  we  are  in.  We  are  sur- 
rounded with  magnificent  views  of  both  the  lake  and  the 
mountains,  and  can  not  turn  in  any  direction  without  being 
ravished.  The  house  is  pretty,  and  in  most  respects  well  and 
even  handsomely  furnished  ;  damask  curtains,  a  Titian,  a  Rem- 
brandt, and  a  Murillo  in  the  parlor  ;  the  floors  are  waxed  and 
caipetless,  to  be  sure,  but  Mrs.  Buck  has  given  us  lots  of  large 
pieces  of  carpeting  such  as  are  used  in  this  country  to  cover 
the  middle  of  the  rooms,  and  these  will  make  us  comfortable 
next  winter.  But  the  winters  here  are  so  short  that  one  hardly 
gets  fixed  to  meet  them,  when  they  are  over. 

Wc  have  quite  a  nice  garden,  from  which  we  have  already 
eaten  lettuce,  spinach,  and  parsley  ;  our  potatoes  were  planted 
a  day  or  two  ago,  and  our  peas  are  just  up.  One  corner  of  tlie 
house,  unconnected  with  our  part,  is  occupied  by  a  farmer  who 
rents  part  of  the  land  ;  he  is  obliged  to  do  our  marketing,  etc., 
and  we  get  milk  and  cream  from  him.  I  wish  the  latter  was  as 
easy  to  digest  as  it  is  palatable  and  cheap.  They  beat  it  up 
here  till  it  looks  like  pure  white  lather  and  eat  it  with  sugar. 
The  grounds  about  our  house  are  very  neat  and  wc  shall  have 

12 


lyS  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

oceans  of  flowers  of  all  sorts  ;  several  kinds  are  in  full  bloom 
now.  The  wild  flowers  are  so  profuse,  so  beautiful  and  so  vari- 
ous that  A.  and  I  are  almost  demented  on  the  subject.  From 
the  windows  I  see  first  the  wide,  gravelled  walk  which  runs 
round  the  house  ;  then  a  little  bit  of  a  green  lawn  in  which 
there  is  a  little  bit  of  a  pond  and  a  tiny  jef  d'cau  which  falls 
agreeabl)^  on  the  ear  ;  beyond  this  the  land  slopes  gently  up- 
ward till  it  is  not  land  but  bare,  rugged  mountain,  here  and 
there  sprinkled  with  snow  and  interspersed  with  pine-trees. 
The  sloping  land  is  ploughed  up  and  men  and  women  are  busy 
sowing  and  plafiting  ;  too  far  off  to  disturb  us  with  noise,  but 
looking,  the  women  at  least,  rather  picturesque  in  their  short 
blue  dresses  and  straw  hats.  On  the  right  hand  the  Dent  du 
Midi  is  seen  to  great  advantage  ;  it  is  now  covered  with  snow 
The  little  village  of  St.  Leger  lies  off  in  the  distance  ;  you  can 
just  see  its  roofs  and  the  quaint  spire  of  a  very  old  church  ; 
Otherwise  you  see  next  to  no  houses,  and  the  stillness  is  very 
sweet.  N(rd)  won't  you  come?  The  children  seem  to  enjoy 
their  liberty  greatly,  and  are  running  about  all  the  time.  They 
have  each  a  little  garden  and  I  hope  will  live  out  of  doors  all 
summer. 

The  state  of  her  health  during  the  next  three  months  was 
a  source  of  constant  and  severe  suffering,  but  could  not  quench 
her  joy  in  the  wonders  of  nature  around  her.  ''  My  drives 
about  this  lovely  place,*'  she  wrote  in  June,  ''have  begun  to 
give  me  an  immense  amount  of  pleasure ;  indeed,  my  faculty 
for  enjoyment  is  so  great,  that  I  sometimes  think  one  day's 
felicity  pays  for  weeks  of  misery,  and  that  if  it  hadn't  been  for 
my  poor  health,  I  should  have  been  too  happy  here."  Nor  did 
her  suffering  weaken  in  the  least  her  sympathy  with  the 
troubles  of  her  friends  at  home.  While  for  the  most  part  si- 
lent as  to  her  own  peculiar  trials,  her  letters  were  full  of  cheer- 
ing words  about  theirs.  To  one  of  these  she  wrote  at  this 
time : 

God  has  taken  care  that  we  should  not  enjoy  so  much  of 
this  world's  comfort  since  we  left  home  as  to  rest  in  it.  Your 
letters  are  so  sad,  that  I  have  fancied  you  perhaps  overesti- 
mated our  situation,  feeling  that  you  and  your  feeble  husband 


IX    RETREAT   AMONG  THE   ALPS. 


79 


were  bearing  the  burden  and  heat  of  the  day  while  we  were 

standing  idle.     My  dear  ,  there  are  trials  everywhere  and 

in  every  sphere,  and  every  heart  knoweth  its  own  bitterness,  or 
else  physical  burdens  are  sent  to  take  the  place  of  mental  de- 
pression. After  all,  it  will  not  need  more  than  an  hour  in  heaven 
to  make  us  ashamed  of  our  want  of  faith  and  courage  here  on 
earth.     Do  cheer  up,  dear  child,  and  "look  aloft  !  "     Poor  Mr. 

' !     I  know  his  work  is  hard  and  up  the  hill,  but  it  will  not 

hv.  lost  work  and  can  not  last  forever.  It  seem.s  to  me  God 
might  accept  with  special  favor  the  services  of  those  who  ''toil 
in  rowing."  After  all,  it  is  not  the  amount  of  work  He  regards. 
but  the  spirit  with  which  it  is  done. 

Early  in  July  she  was  made  glad  by  the  birth  of  her  sixth 
child— her  ''Swiss  boy,"  as  she  liked  to  call  him.  Her  glad- 
ness was  not  a  little  increased  by  a  visit  soon  after  from  Pro- 
fessor  Henry  B.  Smith,  of  the  Union  Theological  Seminary. 
This  visit  was  one  of  the  memorable  events  of  her  h'fe  abroad. 
Professor  Smith  was  not  merely  a  great  theologian  and 
scholar;  he  was  also  a  man  of  most  attractive  personal  quali- 
ties. And,  when  unbending  among  friends  from  his  exacting 
literary  labors,  the  charm  of  liTs  presence  and  conversation  was 
perfect.  His  spirits  ran  high,  and  he  entered  with  equal  zest 
into  the  amusements  of  young  or  old.  His  laugh  was  as 
merry  as  that  of  the  merriest  girl  ;  no  boy  took  part  more 
eagerly  in  any  innocent  sport ;  nobody  could  beat  him  in  climb- 
ing a  mountain.  He  was  a  keen  observer,  and  his  humor — 
sometimes  very  dry,  sometimes  fresh  and  bright  as  the  early 
dew — rendered  his  companionship  at  once  delightful  and  in- 
structive. His  learning  and  culture  were  so  much  a  part  of 
himself,  that  his  most  familiar  talk  abounded  in  the  happiest 
touches  about  books  and  art  and  life.  All  his  finest  traits 
were  in  full  play  while  he  was  at  Genevrier,  and,  when  he  left, 
his  visit  seemed  like  a  pleasant  dream. 

I  am  only  too  glad  of  the  chance  your  husband  gives  mc  to 

write  you  another  bit  of  a  note.     We  are  enjoying  his 

Smitii,     visit  amazingly.     There  are  only  two  drawbacks  to  its 

^uiy'^-7/i   ^^^i^^'ty  ;  ^^i^e  is  that  he  won't  stay  all  summer  and  the 

ot.hei    that  you   are  not  here.     The  children  were  en- 


l80  THE    LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

chanted  with  the  presents  he  brought  them.  When  I  shall  be 
on  my  feet  and  well  and  strong  again  time  only  can  tell.  A. 
lias  delated  herself  lo  me  in  the  sweetest  way.  What  she  has 
been  to  me  all  winter  and  up  to  this  time,  tongue  could  not  tell. 
My  doctor  is  as  kind  as  a  brother.  He  was  a  perfect  stranger 
to  me,  and  was  brought  to  my  bedside  when  I  was  writhing  in 
agony  ;  but  in  ten  minutes  his  tenderness  and  sympathy  made 
me  forget  that  he  was  a  stranger,  and,  through  that  long  night 
of  distress  and  the  long  day  that  followed,  he  did  every  thing 
that  mortal  could  do  to  relieve  and  comfort  me.  He  brought 
his  wife  up  tc  see  me  the  other  day,  and  I  begged  her  to  tell 
him  how  grateful  I  felt.  "He  is  kind,"  she  answered,  "but 
then  he  loves  you  sol"  (They  both  speak  English.)  I  am  so 
puffed  up  by  his  praises  !  I  am  sure  I  thought  I  groaned,  but 
he  says  "pas  une  gemissemcnt." 

August  i^ih. — Our  two  husbands  have  gone  to  Lausanne  for 
the  day,  taking  A.  with  them.  They  seem  to  be  having  real 
nice  times  together,  and  if,  as  your  husband  says,  "his  old  wife 
were  here,"  his  felicity  and  ours  would  be  too  great.  They 
lounge  about,  talk,  drink  soda-water,  and  view"  the  prospect. 
Dr.  Buck  came  up  from  Geneva  on  Thursday  and  spent  the 
night  and  part  of  Friday  with  us,  and  it  would  have  done  you 
good  to  hear  him  and  your  husband  laugh.  He  was  quite  en- 
chanted with  the  place,  and  says  w^e  never  shall  want  to  go 
home.  August  2yl. — Your  husband  has  given  me  leave  to  write 
you  a  little  bit  of  a  note  out  of  my  little  bit  of  a  heart  on  this 
little  bit  of  paper.  He  and  A.  have  just  gone  off  to  get  some 
pretty  grass  for  you.  He  will  tell  you  when  he  gets  home  how 
he  baptized  his  namesake  on  Sunday.  We  have  enjoyed  his 
visit  more  than  tongue  can  tell.  George  says  he  has  enjoyed 
it  as  much  as  he  thought  he  should,  and  I  am  sure  I  have  en- 
joyed it  a  great  deal  more,  as  I  have  been  so  much  better  in 
health  than  I  expected.     But  how  you  must  miss  him  ! 

On  the  1 2th  of  September — a  faultless  autumn  day — she 
set  out  with  her  husband  and  eldest  daughter  for  Chamouni. 
It  was  licr  first  excursion  for  pleasure  since  coming  to  Switzer- 
land. A  visit  to  this  great  and  marvelous  handiwork  of  God 
is  an  e\ent  in  the  dullest  life.  In  her  case  the  experience  was 
io  full  of  delight,  that  it  sceiued  almost  to  compensate  for  the 


IN   RETREAT   AMONG   THE   ALPS.  l8l 

cares  and  disappointments  of  the  whole  previous  year.  The 
plan  was  to  return  to  Genevrier  and  then  pass  on  to  the  Ber- 
nese Oberland,  but  the  visit  to  Chamouni  proved  to  be  hei 
last  as  well  as  her  first  jjleasure  excursion  in  Switzerland. 

I  have  been  so  absorbed  with  anxiety  about  the  children 
since  we  got  back  from  our  journey,  that  I  have  not 
stani  ^^^^  ^^^^  writing  you  a  description  of  it.  George  told 
Gnievrier,  you,  I  suppose,  that  the  news  awaiting  us  when  we 
1859.  '  reached  Vevay  was  of  the  baby's  having  whooping- 
cough.  It  was  a  great  shock  to  us,  for  the  weather 
was  dismally  cold,  and  it  did  not  seem  as  if  the  little  thing 
could  get  safely  through  the  disease  at  so  unfavorable  a  time 
of  year.  Then  there  were  the  other  two  to  have  it  also.  On 
Friday  last  baby's  cry  had  become  a  sad  sort  of  wail,  and  he 
was  so  pale  and  weak,  that  I  did  not  see  how  he  was  going  to 
rally  ;  but  he  is  better  to-day,  so  that  I  begin  to  take  breath. 
.  .  .  .  To  go  back  to  Chamouni,  it  seems  a  mercy  that  we  went 
when  we  did.  We  enjoyed  the  whole  trip.  We  made  the  ex 
cursion  to  the  Mer  de  Glace  in  a  pouring  rain,  without  injury 
to  any  of  us,  and  were  well  repaid  for  our  trouble  by  the  nov- 
elty of  the  whole  expedition  and  the  extraordinary  sights  we 
saw.  George  intended  taking  us  to  the  Oberland  if  we  found 
the  children  well  on  our  return,  but  all  hope  of  accomplishing 
another  journey  was  destroyed  when  we  found  what  different 
business  was  before  us.  It  is  a  real  disappointment,  for  the 
weather  is  now  mild  and  very  fine,  just  adapted  to  journeying, 
and  so  many  things  have  conspired  to  confine  me  to  this  spot, 
that  I  have  found  it  quite  hard  to  be  as  patient  and  cheerful  as 
I  am  sure  I  ought  to  be.  Alas  and  alas  !  what  an  insatiable 
thing  human  nature  is  !  How  it  craves  every  thing  the  world 
can  offer,  instead  of  contenting  itself  with  what  ought  to  con- 
tent it.  However,  I  shall  soon  get  over  my  fidgets,  and  as  l( 
George,  of  course  he  is  only  disappointed  for  me  and  A.,  as  he 
has  visited  the  Oberland,  and  was  only  going  to  give  us  pleas- 
ure. And,  if  I  must  choose  between  the  two,  I'd  rather  have 
the  littlest  baby  in  the  world  than  see  all  the  biggest  mountains 
in  it.  We  are  thankful  to  hear  that  mother  still  continues  tc 
be  so  well.  We  long  to  see  her,  and  I  think  a  look  at  her  or  a 
smile  from  her  would  do  George  good  like  a  medicine. 


1 82  THE    LIFE   OF    MRS.    PRENTISS. 

October  i-jth.—l  went  to  church  yesterday  for  the  first  time 
m  ten  months;  we  came  out  at  half-past  t^n,  so  you  see  we 
have  a  tolerably  long  day  before  us  when  church  is  done.  It  is 
not  at  all  like  going  to  church  at  home  ;  you  not  only  find  it 
painful  to  listen  with  such  strict  attention  as  the  foreign  tongue 
requires,  but  you  miss  the  neat,  well-ordered  sanctuary,  the 
picture  of  family  life  (for  there  are  no  little  children  present !) 
and  the  agreeable  array  of  dress.  The  flapping,  monstrous 
bloomers  tire  your  eyes,  and  so  do  the  grotesque,  coarse  clothes 
and  the  tokens  of  extreme  poverty.  I  grow  more  and  more 
patriotic  every  day,  and  am  astonished  at  what  I  see  and  hear 
of  life  in  Europe. 

I  snatched  one  afternoon  when  the  baby  was  better  than 
usual  to  go  to  Villeneuve  with  George  to  call  on  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
H.  and  the  sister  of  Mrs.  H.,  who  is  one  of  our  Mercer  street 
young  ladies.  They  were  at  the  Hotel  Byron,  where  you 
stayed.  What  a  beautiful  spot  it  is  !  Mr.  H.  afterwards  came 
and  dined  with  us,  and  was  so  charmed  with  the  place  that  he 
was  tempted  to  take  it  when  we  leave  ;  his  wife,  however,  had  set 
her  heart  on  going  home  at  that  time,  as  she  had  left  one  child 
there.  The  vintage  is  going  on  here  at  Genevrier  to-day,  and 
we  are  all  invited  to  go  and  eat  our  fill. 

You  ask  how  I  find  time  to  make  flow^er-pictures.     Why,  I 

have  been  confined  to  the  house  a  good  deal  by  the 

Henry  B.  baby's  sickness,  and  could  hardly  set  myself  about  any- 

GmevHer,  thing  else   when   I    was    not  v.^atching  and  worrying 

Oc/  20,  '  about   him.     When  we  got  home  from  Chamouni  we 
1859.  ^  •         J- 

found  him  with  what  proved  to  be  a  very  serious  dis- 
ease in  the  case  of  so  young  a  child.  It  has  shaken  his  litt!e 
frame  nearly  to  pieces,  leaving  him  after  weeks  of  suffering  not 
much  bigger  than  a  doll,  and  all  eyes  and  bones.  It  v.'as  a 
pretty  hard  struggle  for  life,  and  I  hardly  know  how  he  has 
weathered  the  storm.  The  idea  of  leaving  our  dear  little  Sw4ss 
baby  in  a  little  Swiss  grave,  instead  of  taking  him  home  with 
us,  was  very  distressing  to  me,  and  I  can  not  help  earnestly  de- 
siring that  death  may  not  assail  us  in  this  foreign  land. 

Our  trip  to  Chamouni  was  very  pleasant  and  did  me  a  deal 
of  good.  If  I  could  have  kept  on  the  mule-riding  and  moua- 
tain-viewing  a  few  weeks  I  should  have  got  quite  built  ap,  b-jl 


IN    RETREAT   AMONG    THE   ALPS.  183 

the  children's  coughs  made  it  impossible  to  take  any  moie 
journeys.  Mr.  de  Palezieux,  our  landlord,  called  Monday  to  see 
if  I  would  sell  him  my  sewing-machine,  as  his  wife  was  crazy 
to  have  one,  and  didn't  feel  as  if  she  could  wait  to  get  one  from 
New  York.  I  told  him  I  would,  and  all  night  could  not  sleep 
for  teaching  him  how  to  use  it — for  his  wife  is  in  Germany  and 
he  had  to  learn  for  her.  I  invited  him  to  come  to  dinner  on 
Wednesday  and  take  his  kssoms.  On  Tuesday  George  said  hj 
wanted  me  to  make  a  pair  of  sleeves  for  Mrs.  Tholuck  before 
the  machine  went  off,  so  I  went  to  town  to  get  the  stuff,  at 
three  o'clock  began  the  sleeves  and  worked  like  a  lion  for  a  lit- 
tle over  two  hours,  when  they  were  done,  beautifully.  This 
morning  I  made  four  collars,  which  I  shall  want  for  Christmas 
presents,  and  a  shirt  for  Jules  (our  old  hired  man),  who 
never  had  one  made  of  linen,  and  will  go  off  the  handle  when 
he  gets  it.  So  I  am  tolerably  used  up,  and  shall  be  almost  glad 
to  send  away  the  tempter  to-morrow,  though  I  dare  say  I  shall 
miss  it.  I  wish  you  could  look  out  of  my  window  this  minute, 
and  see  how  beautiful  the  autumnal  foliage  is  already  begin- 
ning to  look.  But  my  poor  old  head,  what  shall  I  do  with  it ! 
You  ask  about  my  health  ;  I  am  as  well  as  I  can  be  without 
sleep.  I  have  had  only  one  really  good  night  since  the  baby 
came,  to  say  nothing  of  those  before  ;  some  worse  than  others, 
to  be  sure  ;  but  all  wakeful  to  a  degree  that  tries  my  faith  not 
a  little.  I  don't  see  what  is  to  hinder  my  going  crazy  one  of 
these  days.  However,  I  won't  if  I  can  help  it.  George  goes 
to  Germany  this  week.     Well,  my  dear,  good-bye. 

George  got  home  a  fortnight  ago,  after  his  three  weeks'  ab- 
sence, looking  nicely,  and  more  like  himself  than  I  have 

To  Mrs.  '  ^,  .  -.^,,  c        \- 

Stearns,  Seen  him  m  a  long  time.  He  had  a  most  refreshmg 
Dec.  x^th.  ^.^^  .^  Germany  among  his  old  friends.  It  does  my 
ncart  good  to  see  him  so  cheery  and  hopeful.  I  have  just  seen  the 
three  babies  safely  in  bed,  after  no  little  scampering  and  carry- 
ing-on. and  now  am  ready  for  a  little  chat  with  you  and  dear 
mother.  George  sits  by  me,  piously  reading  "  Adam  Bede."  1 
was  disappointed  in  the  "  Minister's  Wooing,"  which  he  brought 
from  Germany,  and  can  not  think  Mrs.  Stowe  came  up  to  her 
self  this  time,  whatever  the  newspapers  may  say  about  it  :  and 
as  for  the   plot,  I   don't  see  why  she  couldn't   have  let  Mary 


f84  inF-    I.IFK   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

many  good  old  Dr.  Hopkins,  wlio  was  vastly  more  of  a  man 
than  that  harum-scarum  James.  As  to  "Adam  Bede,"  I  tliink 
it  a  wonderful  book,  beyond  praise.  I  hope  these  literary  ob- 
servations will  be  blessed  to  you,  my  dear.  Mrs.  Tholuck  sent 
me  a  very  pretty  worsted  cape  to  wear  about  house,  or  under  a 
cloak.  We  went  to  Lausanne  last  Wednesday  (George,  A.  and 
I)  to  do  a  little  shopping  for  Christmas,  and  had  quite  a  good 
time,  only  as  life  is  always  mingled  in  sweet  and  bitter,  bittei 
and  sweet,  we  had  the  melancholy  experience  of  finding,  when 
we  got  ready  to  come  home,  that  Jules  had  taken  a  drop  too 
much,  and  was  in  a  state  of  ineffable  silliness,  which  made 
George  prefer  to  drive  himself. 

We  begin  now  to  think  and  talk  about  Paris.  We  have 
been  buying  this  afternoon  some  Swiss  chalets  and  other 
things,  brought  to  the  door  by  two  women,  and  I  had  hard 
work  to  keep  George  from  taking  a  bushel  or  two.  He  got 
leaf-cutters  enough  to  stab  all  his  friends  to  the  heart.  Most 
of  our  lady  friends  will  receive  a  salad-spoon  and  fork  from 
one  or  the  other  of  us.  In  fact,  I  have  no  doubt  we  shall  be 
seized  at  the  Custom-house  as  merchants  in  disguise.  Well,  I 
must  bid  you  good  night. 

The  latter  part  of  December  her  husband  was  requested 
to  go  to  Paris  and  take  the  temporary  charge  of  the  American 
chapel  there,  lie  decided  to  do  so,  with  the  understanding 
that  she  and  the  children  sliould  soon  follow  him.  But 
scarcely  had  he  left  Geneva,  when  first  one  and  then  another 
of  the  children  was  seized  with  scarlet  fever.  Here  arc  a  few 
extracts  from  her  letters  on  the  subject: 

Dec.  3i.s7. — Jules  had  hardly  gone  to  the  otlice,  when  I  became 
satisfied  that  G.  had  scarlet  fever  beyond  a  doubt,  and  there- 
fore sent  Jeanette  instantly  to  town  to  tell  the  doctor  so,  and  to 
ask  him   to  come  up.     He  came,  and  said  at  once  I  was  quite 

right As  to  our  leaving  here,  he  said  decidedly  that  it 

ciuIJ  not  be  under  less  than  forty  days.  I  can  not  tell  you,  my 
darling,  how  grieved  I  am  for  you  to  hear  this  news.  Now  I 
'<now  your  first  impulse  will  be  to  come  home,  and  perhaps  to 
renounce  the  chaplaincy,  but  I  beg  you  to  think  twice — thrice 
Oefoie   you   decide  to  do  so IL)w  one   thino-  hurries  c:r 


IN    lU-TIil'AT    A^[OX0   TIIK    ALPS.  jSt, 

after  another  !  Rut  it  is  the  universal  cry,  everywhere  ;  every- 
body is  groaning  and  travailing  in  pain  together;  and  we 
shall  doubtless  learn,  in  eternity,  that  our  lot  was  not  peculiar, 
but  that  we  had  millions  of  unknown  fellow-sufferers  on  the 
way.  Don't  be  too  disappointed,  but  let  us  rather  be  thankful, 
that  if  our  poor  children  must  be  sick,  it  was  here  and  not  in 
F\aris,  and  now,  good  night.  Betake  yourself  to  your  knees, 
when  you  have  read  this,  and  pray  for  us  with  all  your  might. 

/a/L  5,  iS6o.— The  doctor  has  been  here  and  says  the  other 
children  must  not  meet  G.  till  the  end  of  this  month,  unless 
they  are  taken  sick  meantime.  Poor  M.  melted  like  a  snow- 
flake  in  the  lire,  when  she  heard  that  ;  she  begins  to  miss  her 
little  playmate,  and  keeps  running  to  say  things  to  him  through 
the  key-hole,  and  to  serenade  him  with  singing,  accompanied 
with  a  rattling  of  knives.  I  see  but  one  thing  to  be  done  ;  for 
you  to  stay  and  preach  and  me  to  stay  and  nurse,  each  in  the 

place  God  has  assigned  us You  must  pray  for  me,  that 

I  may  be  patient  and  willing  to  have  my  coming  to  Europe 
turn  out  a  failure  as  far  as  my  special  enjoyment  of  it  is  con- 
cerned. There  are  better  things  than  going  to  Paris,  being 
with  you  and  hearing  you  preach  ;  pray  that  I  may  have  them 
in  full  measure.  I  can't  bear  to  stop  writing— good-bye,  my 
dearest  love  ! 

/a/L  15///. — If  you  could  look  in  upon  us  this  evening,  you 
would  be  not  a  little  surprised  to  see  me  writing  in  the  corner 
of  my  room,  close  to  the  wash-stand  where  my  lamp  is  j^laced  ; 
but  you  would  see  at  a  glance  that  the  curtain  of  the  bed  is  let 
down  to  shade  our  darling  little  M.'s  eyes,  as  she  lies  close  at 
my  side.  How  sorry  I  am,  as  you  can  not  see  all  this,  to  have  to 
tell  it  to  you  !  I  have  let  her  decide  for  me,  and  she  wants  dear 
papa  to  know  that  she  is  sick.  Oh,  why  need  I  add  another 
care  to  those  you  already  suffer  on  our  account  !  ....  As  to 
baby,  we  are  disposed  to  think  that  /ic  has  had  the  fcrcr.  Of 
course  we  do   not   know,  but   it   is  pleasant  to  hope  the  best. 

And   now,   my  precious  darling,  you   see   there  is  more 

praying  work  to  do,  as  I  hinted  in  my  Saturday's  note  when 
my  heart  was  pretty  heavy  within  me.  I  need  not  tell  yow 
what  to  ask  for  the  dear  child  ;  but  for  me  do  pray  that  I  may 
have  no  will  of  my  owm.  All  these  trials  and  disappointments 
are  so  purely  Providential   that  it  frightens  me  to  think  I  may 


J  ^5  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

have  much  secret  discontent  about  them,  or  may  like  to  plan 
for  mvself  in   wavs   different  from   God's    plans.     Yet   in   the 
nudst^of  so   much  care  and   fatigue   I   hardly  know  how  I  do 
feel  •   I  am  like   a  feather  blown  here  and  there  by  an  unex- 
pected whirlwind  and  I  suppose  I  ought  not  to  expect  much  of 
myself      "Though  He  slay  me  yet  will  I  trust  m  Him,    I  keep 
saving  over  and  over  to  myself,  and  if  you  are  going  to  write  a 
new  sermon  this  week,  suppose  you  take  that  for  your  text.     1 
have  not  had  one  regret  that  you  went  to  Paris,  and  as  to  your 
coming  on,  I  do  hope  you  will  not  think  of  it,  unless  you  are 
sent  for      You  could  do  nothing  and  would  be  very  lonely  and 
uncomfortable.     The  doctor  told  me  to  tell  you  to  stay  where 
you  were,  and  that  you  ought  to   rejoice  that  the  children  are 
not  sick  in  Paris.    I  do  trust  that  in  the  end  we  shall  come  forth 
from  this  troublous  time  like  gold  from  the  furnace.     So  far  I 
have  been  able  to  do  all  that  was  necessary  and  I  trust  I  shall 
continue  so.     God  bless  you,  and  bring  us  to  a  happy  meeting 
in  His  own  good  time  ! 

....  Boiling  over  does  one  good  of  itself,  and  I  am  sure  you 
feci  the  better  for  having  done  so.     I  do  not  know  why  men 
,^^.^     seem  to  get  along  without  such  reliefs  as  women  al- 
Hh-arns,    most  always  seek  in  this  waiy  ;  whether  there  is  less 
^^r/r  water  in  their  kettles  or  whether  their  kettles  are  big- 
^^^-  '    ger  than  ours  and  boil  with  more  safety.     It  is  a  com- 
fort to  believe  that,  whatever  our  troubles,  in  the  end  all  will 
work  together  for  our  good.     The  new  year  has  opened  upon 
us  here  at  Gcnevrier  pretty  gloomily,  as  George  has  told  you. 
You  will   not  be  surprised,  therefore,  to  hear  that  M.  is  also 
quite  sick,  much  sicker  than  G.     She  is  one  of    those  meek, 
precious  little  darlings  whom  it  is  painful  to  see  suffer,  and  I 
have  hardly  known  what  I  was  about,  or  where  I  was,  since  she 
was  taken  down.     My  baby  is  deserted  by  us  all  ;  I  have  only 
seen  him  in  vwmenis  for  three  weeks.     You  can  not  think  how 
lonely  poor  A.  is  ;  half  the  time  she  eats  alone  in  the  big  soli- 
tary dining-room  ;  nobody  has  any  time  to  walk  out  with  her, 
what  few  children  she  knew  are  afraid  to  come  here  or  to  have 
her  come  nigh  them,  and  I  feel  as  if  I  should  fly,  when  I  think 
of  i<; — for  she  is  not  strong  or  well  and  her  life  here  in  Switzer- 
land  has  been  a  series  of  disappointments  and  anxieties.     The 


IN    RETRF.AT    AMONG    THE    ATTS.  1S7 

only  leisure  moments  I  can  snatch  in  the  course  of  the  twenty 
four  hours  I  have  to  spend  in  writing  to  George  ;  but  the  Jast 
few  evenings  M.  has  slept,  so  that  I  could  play  a  game  of  chess 
with  her  and  try  to  cheer  and  brace  her  up  against  next  day's 
dreariness.  All  her  splendid  dreams  of  getting  off  from  this 
solitude  to  the  life  and"  stir  of  Paris  have  been  dissipated,  but 
she  has  never  uttered  one  word  of  complaint  ;  I  have  not  heard 
her  say  as  much  iis  "  Isn't  it  too  bad  !  "  And  indeed  we  ought 
none  of  us  to  say  so  or  to  feel  so,  for  the  doctor  assures  me 
that  for  three  such  delicate  children  as  he  considers  ours,  to 
pass  safely  through  whooping-cough  and  scarlet-fever,  is  a  per- 
fect wonder  and  that  he  is  sure  it  is  owing  to  the  pure  country 
air.  And  when  I  think  how  different  a  scene  our  house  might 
present  if  our  three  little  ones  had  been  snatched  away,  as 
three  or  four  even  have  been  from  other  families,  I  am  ashamed 
of  myself  that  I  dare  to  sigh,  that  I  am  lonely  and  friendless 
here,  or  that  I  have  anything  to  complain  of.  It  has  been  no 
small  trial,  however,  to  pass  through  such  anxieties  in  so  re- 
mote a  place,  with  George  gone  ;  while  on  the  other  hand  I 
have  been  most  thankful  that  he  has  been  spared  all  the  details 
of  the  children's  ailments,  and  permitted  once  more  to  feel 
himself  about  his  Master's  business.  Providence  most  plainly 
called  him  to  Paris,  and  I  trust  he  will  stay  there  and  get  good 
till  we  can  join  him.  But  I  feel  uneasy  about  him,  too,  lesl 
his  anxiety  about  the  children  should  hang  as  a  dead  weight 
on  his  not  quite  rested  head  and  heart.  At  any  rate,  I  shall  be 
tolerably  glad  to  see  him  again  at  the  end  of  our  two  months' 
separation.  Flow  I  should  love  to  drop  in  on  you  to-ni^ht  ! 
Doesn't  it  seem  as  if  one  could  if  one  tried  hard  enough  I  Well, 
g^ood  night  to  you. 

I  believe  George  has  written  you  about  our  private  hospital. 
To  Mrs.  ^^^  ^^^  "^^  been  gone  to  Paris  forty-eight  hours  when 
Smith,     Q   ^vas  taken  sick  ;  that  was  a  month  as^o,  and  I  have 

Genevi  lefy  ^ 

yati.  20,  only  tasted  the  air  twice  in  all  that  time.  G.  had  the 
^  ^'  disease  lightly.  M.,  poor  little  darling,  was  much 
sicker  than  he  was.  It  is  a  fortnight  since  she  was  taken  and 
she  hardlj-  sits  up  at  all  ;  an  older  child  would  be  in  bed,  but 
little  ones  never  will  give  up  if  they  can  help  it  ;  I  suppose  it  is 
because  they  can  be  held  in  the  arms  and   rocked,  and   carried 


£88  THE    LIFE   OF    MRS.    PFENTISS. 

about.     I  have  passed  through  some  most  anxious  hours  on  ac- 
count  of  M.,  and  it  seems  little  less  than  a  miracle  that  she  is 
still  alive.     The  baby  is  well,  and  he  is  a  nice  little  rosy  fellow. 
It  was  a  dreadful  disappointment  to  us  to  be  detained  here  in- 
stead of  going  to  Paris.   I  felt  that  I  couldn't  live  longer  in  such 
enl  ire  solitude  ;  and  just  then,  lo  and  behold,  George  was  whisked 
off  and  I  was  shut  up  closer  than  ever.     It  is  a  great  comfort  to 
me  that  he  got  off  just  when  he  did,  and  has  had  grace  to  stay 
away  ;  on   the  other  hand,  I   need  not  say  how  his  absence  has 
aggravated   my  cares,  how  solitary  the   season   of  anxiety  has 
been,  and  how,  at  times,  my  faith  and  courage  have  been  put  to 
their  utmost  stretch.    The  whole  thing  has  been  so  evidently  or- 
dered and  planned  by  God  that  I  have  not  dared  to  complain  ; 
but,  my  dear  child,  if  you  had  come  in  now  and  then  with  a  little 
of  your  strengthening  talk,  I  can't  deny  I  should  have  been  most 
thankful.   It  has  been  pretty  trying  for  George  to  hear  such  dole- 
ful accounts  from  home,  but  I  hope  the  worst  is  over,  and  that 
we  shall  be  the  wiser  and  the  better  for  this  new  lesson  of  life. 
Dr.  Curchod's  rule  is  the  same  as  Dr.  Buck's— forty  days  con- 
finement to  one  room  ;  so  we  have  a  month  more  to  spend  here. 
I  am  afraid  I  am  writing  a  gloomy  letter.     If  I  am,  you  must 
try  to  excuse  me  and  say,  "  Poor  child,  she  isn't  well,  and  she 
hasn't  had  any  good  sleep  lately,  and  she's  tired,  and  I  don't 
believe  she  ?neans  to  grumble."    Do  so  much  for  me,  and  I'll  do 
as  much  for  you  sometime.     I  hear  your  husband  has  taken  up 
a  Bible-class.     It  is  perfectly  shocking.     Does  he  icant  to  kill 
himself,  or  what  ails  him?     The  plea.antest  remembrance  we 

sh-dl  have  of  tliis  place  is  his  visit Our  doctor  and   his 

family  stand  out  as  bright  lights  in  this  picture  ;  he  has  been 
like  a  brother  in  sympathy  and  kindness.  We  shall  never  for- 
get it.  God  has  been  so  good  to  you  and  to  me  in  sparing  our 
children  when  assailed  by  so  fearful  a  disease,  that  we  ought  to 
love  Him  better  than  we  ever  did.  I  do  so  want  my  weary 
xolitude  to  bear  that  fruit. 


IN    RETREAT   AMONG   THE   ALPS.  189 


IV. 

Paris.      Sight-seein^^.      A   sick  Friend.      London  and  its  Environs.     The  Queen  and 
Prince  Albert.     The  Isle  of  Wig:ht.     Homeward. 

On  the  20th  of  February  the  family  gladly  bade  adieu  lo 
Switzerland  and  set  out  for  Paris,  arriving  there  on  the  morn- 
ing of  the  22d.  Mrs.  Prentiss  was  overjoyed  to  find  herself 
once  more  in  the  world.  On  the  23d  she  wrote  to  Mrs. 
Smith : 

We  have  got  here  safe  and  sound  with  our  little  batch  of  in- 
valids. They  bore  the  journey  very  well  and  are  heartily  glad 
to  get  into  the  world  again.  I  am  chock-full  of  worldliness. 
All  I  think  of  is  dress  and  fashion,  and,  on  the  whole,  I  don't 
know  that  you  are  worth  writing  to,  as  you  were  never  in  Paris 
and  don't  know  the  modes,  and  have  perhaps  foolishly  left  off 
hoops  and  open  sleeves.  I  long,  however,  to  hear  from  you 
and  your  new  babby,  and  will  try  to  keep  a  small  spot  swept 
clear  of  finery  in  my  heart  of  hearts,  where  you  can  sit  down 
when  you've  a  mind.  Our  little  fellow  is  getting  to  be  a  sweet- 
looking  baby,  with  what  his  nurse  calls  a  most  "  gracieuse " 
smile — if  you  can  guess  what  kind  of  a  smile  that  is.  But  he 
is  getting  teeth  and  is  looking  delicate  and  soft,  and  your  Her- 
cules will  knock  him  dcfwn,  I  know. 

But  Paris  was  far  from  fulfilling  to  her  or  to  the  children 
the  bright  anticipations  with  which  it  had  been  looked  for- 
ward to  from  lonely  Genevrier.  The  weather  could  hardly 
have  been  worse  ;  the  house  soon  became  another  hospital ; 
and  sight-seeing  was  a  task.  Friends,  however,  soon  gathered 
about  her,  and  by  their  hospitality  and  little  kindnesses,  re- 
lieved the  tedium  of  the  weai-y  days. 

We  pass  many  lonely  hours  in  this  big  city,  and  often  long 

for  you  and  Mr.  Stearns  to  drop  in,  or  for  a  chance  to 

Stearns     ^^"    ^^   ^^   ^ce  dear   mother.      Getting    nearer   home 

Paris,      makes   it   attractive.     It  works  in  the  natural  life  just 

Afar  en  27,  . 

1S60.      as  It  does  in  the  spiritual  in  that  respect.    The  weather 
is  dreadful  and  has  been  for  five  months — scarcely  one 


IQO  THE    LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

cheeiy  day  in  that  whole  time.  What  with  this  and  the  chil 
dren's  ill-health,  1  should  not  wonder  if  we  left  Paris  as  igno- 
rant  of  its  beauties  as  when  we  came.  But  I  hope  we  shall  not 
let  that  worry  us  too  much,  but  rather  be  thankful  that,  bad  as 
things  are,  they  are  not  so  bad  as  they  might  be.  Our  sympa- 
thies are  greatly  excited  now  for  the  Rev.  Mr.  Little,  formerly  of 
Bangor,  who  is  in  Paris — alone,  friendless,  and  sick.  If  we  could 
by  any  miraculous  power  stretch  our  scanty  accommodations, 
we  should  certainly  take  him  home  and  nurse  him  till  his  wife 
could  be  got  here.  You  know,  perhaps,  that  Mrs.  Little  is  a 
daughter  of  Dr.  Cornelius  ;  and,  when  I  recall  the  love  and 
honor  I  was  taught  to  feel  towards  him  when  I  was  a  little  girl, 
my  heart  quite  yearns  towards  her,  especially  in  this  time  of 
fearful  anxiety  about  her  husband.  How  insignificant  my  own 
trials  look  to  me,  when  I  think  of  the  sorrow  which  is  probably 
before  her. 

April  26f/L — Our  patience  is  still  tried  by  the  cold,  damp, 
and  most  unwholesome  weather,  which  prevents  the  children 
from  going  to  see  anything.  But  we  do  not  care  so  much  for 
ourselves  or  for  them  as  for  poor  Mr.  Little,  who  is  exceedingly 
feeble,  chiefly  confined  to  his  room,  and  so  forlorn  in  this 
strange,  homeless  land.  While  George  w^as  with  him  last  even- 
ing, he  had  a  bad  fit  of  coughing,  which  resulted  in  the  raising 
of  a  gill  or  so  of  blood.  I  know  you  will  feel  interested  to  hear 
about  him,  and  will  not  wonder  that  our  hearts  are  so  full  of 
sympathy  for  him  and  for  his  poor  wife,  that  we  can  hardly 
talk  of  anything  else.  He  expects  her  in  about  a  week.  What 
a  coming  to  Europe  for  her  !  How  little  those  who  stand  on 
the  shore  to  watch  the  departure  of  a  foreign  steamer,  know 
what  they  do  wiien  they  envy  its  passengers  !  .  .  .  .  We  buckled 
on  our  armor  and  began  sight-seeing  the  other  day,  going  to 
see  the  Sainte  Chapelle  and  the  galleries  and  museum  of  the 
Louvre  among  the  rest.  The  Sainte  Chapelle  is  quite  unlike 
anything  I  ever  saw  and  delighted  us  extremely.  As  to  the 
Louvre,  one  needs  several  entire  days  to  do  justice  to  it,  besides 
a-  amount  of  youthful  enthusiasm  and  bodily  strength  which 
we  do  not  possess  ;  for,  amid  midnight  w^atchings  over  our  sick 
children  and  the  like,  the  oil  of  gladness  has  about  burnt  out 
and  we  find  sight-seeing  a  weary  task. 

-^^(^y  25///. — It   does  seem   as   if  George's  preachip;^-  was  lis 


IN   RETREAT   AMONG   THE   ALPS.  I9I 

tened  to  with  more  and  more  serious  attention,  and  it  may  be 
seen  long  after  he  has  rested  from  his  labors  on  earth,  that  he 
has  done  a  good  work  here.  We  both  are  much  interested  in 
Professor*  Huntington's  sermons,^  sent  us  by  Miss  W.  This  is  a 
great  deal  for  me  to  say,  because  I  do  not  like  to  read  sermons 
During  the  last  three  weeks,  before  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Little  left,  \vt 
accomplished  very  little.  It  was  not  that  we  did  or  could  do 
so  very  much  for  them,  but  they  had  nobody  to  depend  on  but 
us,  and  George  was  constantly  going  back  and  forth  trying  to 
make  them  comfortable,  arranging  all  their  affairs,  etc.  She 
had  a  weary,  anxious  two  weeks  here,  and  now  has  set  her  face 
homewards,  not  knowing  but  Mr.  L.  may  sink  before  reaching 
America.  It  is  a  great  comfort  to  us  to  have  been  able  to 
soothe  them  somewhat  as  long  as  they  stayed  in  Paris.  George 
says  it  was  worth  coming  here  for  that  alone.  I  say  wc,  but  I 
mean  George,  for  what  was  done  he  did.  The  most  I  could  do 
was  to  feel  dreadfully  for  them.^ 

We  are  now  to  begin  sight-seeing  again,  and  do  all  we  can 
as  speedily  as  possible,  for  only  two  weeks  remain.  The  chil- 
dren are  now  pretty  well.  The  baby  is  at  that  dangerous  age 
when  they  are  forever  getting  upon  their  feet  and  tumbling 
over  backward  on  their  heads.  M.  is  the  oddest  little  soul. 
Belle  says  she  would  rather  go  to  a  funeral  than  sec  all  the 
shops  in  Paris,  and,  when  they  are  out,  she  can  hardly  keep 
her  from  following  every  such  procession  they  meet.  I  asked 
her  the  last  time  they  went  out  if  she  had  had  a  nice  walk. 
She  said  not  very  nice,  as  she  had  only  seen  one  pretty  thing,  and 
that  was  a  police-officer  taking  a  man  to  jail.  The  idea  of  go- 
ing to  England  is  very  pleasant,  and,  if  we  only  keep  tolerably 
well,  I  think  it  will  do  us  all  good.  What  is  dear  mother  do- 
Now  Bishop  of  the  P.  E.  Church  of  Central  New  York. 

'^  "Christian  Believing- and  Living." 

'  The  Rev.  George  B.  Little  was  born  in  Castine,  Maine,  December  21,  i8ji.  lie  vvaj 
paduated  at  Bowdoin  College  in  1843.  Having  studied  theology  at  Andover,  he  was 
ordained  in  1849  pastor  of  the  First  Congregational  church  in  Bangor,  Me.  In  1S50  he 
married  Sarah  Edwards,  daughter  of  that  admirable  and  whole-souled  servant  cf  Christ, 
Hie  Rev.  Ehas  Cornelius,  D.D.  In  November,  1857,  Mr.  Little  was  installed  a.s  paiioi 
of  the  Congregational  church  in  West  Ne^vton,  Mass.  Eady  in  March,  1S60,  he  went 
abroad  for  his  health,  but  returned  home  again  in  May,  and  died  among  his  own  people, 
July  20,  1S60.  The  last  words  he  uttered  were,  "  I  shaU  soon  be  with  Christ."  Mr.  Lit- 
Ue  was  a  man  of  superior  gifts,  full  of  scholarly  enthusiasm,  and  devoted  to  his  Master's 
woric. 


IQ2  THE    LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

ing  about  these  times  ?  I  always  think  of  her  as  sitting  by  the 
little  work-table  in  her  room,  knitting  and  watching  the  chiK 
dren.  Give  lots  of  love  and  kisses  to  her,  and  tell  her  we  lonj; 
to  see  her  face  to  face.  Kiss  all  the  children  for  us — I  suppos'i 
they'll  letjw//  boys  and  all — and  you  may  do  as  much  for  Mr. 
S.  if  you  want  to.     Good-bye. 

On  the  7th  of  June  the  family  left  Paris  for  London.  A 
first  visit  to  England — 

That  precious  stone  set  in  the  silver  sea — 

is  always  an  event  full  of  interest  to  children  of  the  New  En- 
gland Puritans.  The  "  sceptered  isle  "  is  still  in  a  sense  their 
mother-country,  and  a  thousand  ancestral  ties  attract  them  to 
its  shores.  There  is  no  other  spot  on  earth  where  so  many 
lines  of  their  history,  domestic  and  public,  meet.  And  in 
London,  what  familiar  memories  are  for  them  associated  with 
almost  every  old  street  and  lane  and  building ! 

The  winter  and  spring  of  i860  had  been  cold,  wet  and 
cheerless  well-nigh  beyond  endurance  ;  and  the  summer  proved 
hardly  less  dreary.  It  rained  nearly  every  day,  sometimes  all 
day  and  all  night ;  the  sun  came  out  only  at  long  intervals, 
and  then  often  but  for  a  moment ;  the  atmosphere,  much  of 
the  time,  was  like  lead ;  the  moon  and  stars  seemed  to  have 
left  the  sky  ;  even  the  English  landscape,  in  spite  of  its  match- 
less verdure  and  beauty,  put  on  a  forbidding  aspect.  All 
nature,  indeed,  was  under  a  cloud.  This,  added  to  her  frail 
health,  made  the  summer  a  very  trying  one  to  Mrs.  Prentiss, 
and  yet  it  afforded  her  not  a  little  real  delight.  Some  of  her 
pleasantest  days  in  Europe  were  spent  in  England.  The  fol- 
lowing extracts  are  from  a  little  journal  kept  by  her  in  London  : 

June  10///.— We  went  this  morning  to  hear  Dr.  Hamilton, 
and  were  greatly  edified  by  the  sermon,  which  was  on  the  text  : 
"  ITilherto  hath  the  Lord  helped  us."  In  the  afternoon  we  de- 
cided to  go  to  Westminster  Abbey.  It  began  to  rain  soon  after 
we  got  out,  and  we  had  a  two  miles'  walk  through  the  mud. 
The  old  abbey  looked  as  much  like  its  picture  as  it  could,  but 
pictures  can   not  give  a  true  idea  of  the  grandeur  of  such  a 


IN    RKTREAT    AMONG    THE    ALPS. 


193 


building.  We  were  a  little  late,  and  every  seat  was  full  and 
many  were  standing,  as  we  had  to  do  through  the  whole  service. 
The  sermon  struck  me  as  a  very  ordinary  affair,  though  it  was 
delivered  by  a  lord.  But  the  music  was  so  s\yeet,  performed 
for  aught  I  know  by  angels — for  the  choir  was  invisible— and 
we  stood  surrounded  by  such  monuments  and  covered  by  such 
a  roof,  that  we  were  not  quite  throwing  away  our  time.    Albert 

B dined  with  us,  and  in  the  evening,  with  one  accord,  we 

went  to  hear  Dr.  Hamilton  again.  We  had  good  seats  and 
heard  a  most  beautiful  as  well  as  edifying  discourse  on  the 
first  verses  of  the  103d  Psalm.  Some  of  the  images  were  very 
tine,  and  the  whole  tone  of  the  sermon  was  moderate,  sensible, 
and  serious.  I  use  these  words  advisedly,  for  I  had  an  impres- 
sion that  he  was  a  flowery,  popular  man  whom  I  should  not 
relish.  At  the  close  of  the  service  a  little  prayer-meeting  of 
half  an  hour  was  held,  and  we  came  home  satisfied  with  our 
first  English  Sunday,  feeling  some  of  our  restless  cravings  al- 
ready quieted  as  only  contact  with  God's  own  people  could 
quiet  them. 

wth. — Went  to  see  the  Crystal  Palace.  It  proved  a  fine 
day,  and  we  took  M.  with  us.  None  of  us  felt  quite  well,  but 
we  enjoyed  this  new  and  beautiful  scene  for  all  that.  It  is  a 
little  fairy  land. 

14///. — Went  to  Westminster  Abbey,  and  spent  some  time 
there.  On  coming  out  we  made  a  rapid,  but  quite  amusing 
passage  through  several  courts  where  we  saw  numerous  great 
personages  in  stiff  little  gray  wigs.  To  my  untrained,  irreverent 
eyes  they  all  looked  perfectly  funny.  George  was  greatly  inter- 
ested and  edified.  It  has  been  raining  and  shining  b}'  turns  all 
day,  and  is  this  evening  very  cold. 

15///. — Another  of  those  days  which  the  English  so  euniioni 
casly  term  '^  nasty  "  Not  knowing  what  else  to  do  with  it,  wc 
set  off  in  search  of  No.  5  Sermon  Lane,  a  house  connected  with 
a  j;tcreoscopic  establishment  in  Paris,  which  we  reached  after 
many  evolutions  and  convolutions,  and  found  it  to  be  a  wlioie- 
sale  concern  only.  Pitying  us  for  the  trouble  we  had  been  at 
in  seeking  them,  they  let  us  have  what  views  we  wanted,  but  at 
higher  prices  than  they  sell  them  at  Paris.  We  then  went  to 
the  1  ract  House,  and  while  selecting  French  and  other  tiacts. 
13 


ir)4  THE   LIFE   OF    MRS.    PRENTISS. 

a  gentleman  came  and  asked  for  a  quantity  of  the  "  Last  Hours 
of  Dr.  Payson." 

i6//;.__\Vent  to  the  Tower,  and  had  a  most  interest- 
incr  visit  there.  We  were  particularly  struck  by  some  spots 
shown  us  by  one  of  the  wardens,  after  the  regular  round  had 
been  gone  through  with,  and  the  other  visitors  dispersed-- 
namely,  the  cell  where  prisoners  were  confined  with  thumb- 
screws attached  to  elicit  confession,  and  the  floor  where  Lady 
fane  Grey  was  imprisoned.  We  looked  from  the  window  where 
she  saw  her  husband  carried  to  execution,  and  A.  was  locked 
up  in  the  room  so  as  to  be  able  to  say  she  had  been  a  prisoner 
in  the  Tower. 

i7//^._Heard  Dr.  Hamilton  again.  Met  Dr.  and  Mrs. 
Adams  of  New  York  there,  and  had  a  most  kind  and  cor- 
dial greeting  from  them.  Dr.  A.  introduced  us  to  Dr.  Hamil- 
ton. In  the  evening  we  went  to  hear  Dr.  Adams  at  Dr.  H.'s 
church,  and  came  home  quite  proud  of  our  countryman,  who 
gave  us  a  most  excellent  sermon.  At  the  close  of  the  service 
Dr.  H.  invited  us  to  take  tea  with  him  next  week,  and  intro- 
duced us  to  his  wife  ;  a  young,  quiet  little  lady,  looking  as  un- 
like most  of  us  American  parsonesses  as  possible,  her  parochial 
cares  being,  perhaps,  less  weighty  than  ours. 

i8M.— Two  things  made  this  day  open  pleasantly.  One  was 
a  decided  attempt  on  the  part  of  the  sun  to  come  out  and 
shine.  The  second  was  Dr.  Adams'  dropping  in  and  taking 
breakfast  with  us.  We  also  got  letters  from  home,  and  the 
news  that  Mr.  Little  had  reached  New  York  in  safety.  After 
lunch,  George  went  off  in  glory  to  the  House  of  Commons, 
hinting  that  he  might  stay  there  till  to-morrow  morning,  and 
begging  for  a  night-key  to  let  himself  in.  The  rest  of  us  went 
to  the  Zoological  Garden,  which  is  much  more  ample  and  in- 
teresting than  the  Jardin  des  Plantes. 

2oth. — Yesterday  it  poured  in  torrents  all  day,  so  that  going 
out  was  not  possible.  To-day  we  went  out  in  the  drops  and 
between  the  drops,  to  do  a  little  shopping  in  the  way  of  razors, 
scissors,  knives,  needles,  and  such  like  sharp  and  pointed  things. 
We  stepped  into  Nesbit's  and  took  a  view  of  Little  Susy,  who 
looked  as  usual,  bought  a  few  books,  subscribed  to  a  library, 
coveted  our  neighbor's  property,  and  came  home  cov<=:red  with 
mud  and  mire. 


IN    RETREAT    AMONG    THE    ALPS.  I95 

22d. — Went  out  to  Barnet  to  call  on  Miss  Bird.  On  reach- 
ing the  station,  we  found  Miss  B.  awaiting  us  with  phaeton 
and  pony.  We  were  driven  over' a  pretty  three  miles  route  tn 
"Hurst  Cottage,"  where  we  were  introduced  to  Mrs.  Bird  and 
a  younger  daughter,  and  I  had  a  nice  little  lunch,  together  with 
pleasant  chat  about  America  in  general  and  E.  L.  S.  in  particu- 
lar. Miss  Bird  said  she  showed  her  likeness  to  a  gentleman, 
who  is  a  great  physiognomist,  and  asked  his  opinion  of  her. 
He  replied,  "  She  is  a  genius,  a  poetess,  a  Christian,  and  a  true 
wife  and  mother."  We  then  went  up-stairs,  and  looked  at  Miss 
B.'s  little  study,  after  which  she  took  us  to  see  the  church  in 
Hadley,  a  very  old  building  dating  back  to  1494.  It  lias  been 
repaired  and  restored  and  is  a  beautiful  little  church.  On 
leaving  it  Miss  Bird  came  with  us  a  part  of  the  way  to  the 
station  and  we  got  home  in  good  season  for  dinner.  The 
weather,  true  to  its  rule,  could  not  last  fine,  and  so  this  even- 
ing if  is  raining  again.' 

24//!. — No  rain  all  day  !  Can  it  be  true?  George  went  in 
the  morning  to  hear  Mr.  Binney,  and  A.  and  I  to  Dr.  Hamil- 
ton' s,  who  preached  a  very  good  sermon  on  a  favorite  text  ot 
mine,  "I  beseech  Thee  show  me  Thy  glory."  In  the  evening 
Dr.  Patton,  of  New  York,  induced  us  to  go  with  himself  and 
wife  to  a  meeting  at  a  theatre  three  miles  off.  The  Rev.  Mr 
Graham  preached.  It  was  an  interesting,  but  touching  and 
saddening  sight  to  look  upon  the  congregation  ;  to  wonder 
why  they  came,  and  whether  they  would  come  again,  and 
whethe,'-  under  those  stolid  and  hardened  faces  there  yet  lay 
humanity.  Many  came  with  babies  in  their  arms,  who  made 
themselves  very  much  at  home  ;  some  were  in  dirty  week-day 
clothes  ;  "some  ii  rags  and  some  in  jags."  Coming  home  we 
passed  the  spot  where  John  Rogers  was  burned,  and  that  where 
in  time  of  the  plague  dead  bodies  were  thrown  in  frighifu' 
heaps  into  one  grave. 

25//^. — We  took  tea  at  Dr.  Hamilton's,  where  we  had  a 
very  pleasant  evening,  meeting  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Adams,  as  well  as 
all  Dr.  H.'s  session.  Dr.  H.  strikes  one  most  agreeably,  and 
seems  as  genial  and  as  full  of  life  as  a  boy. 

26///.— Visited  Windsor  Castle  with  Dr.  Adams  and  his  jxirty 

'  Miss  Bird  is  known  to  the  world  by  her  remarkable  books  of  travel  in  Japan  and  else- 
vhere. 


196  THE   LIFE   OF    MRS.    PRENTISS. 

ten  of  us  in  all.  We  drove  afterward  to  see  the  country  church 
yard,  where  Grey  wrote  his  elegy  and  where  lie  now  lies  buried 
This  was  a  most  charming  litlle  trip  and  we  all  enjoyed  it  ex 
ceedingly.  The  young  folks  gathered  leaves  and  flowers  foi 
their  books. 

29///. — Last  evening  we  had  a  nice  time  and  a  cup  of  tea 
with  the  Adamses.  To-day — another  nasty  day — they  lunched 
with  us,  which  broke  up  its  gloom  and  we  went  with  them  to 
see  Sloan's  museum,  a  most  interesting  collection.  We  all  en- 
joyed its  novelty  as  well  as  its  beauty. 

She  also  records  the  pleasure  with  which  she  visited  the 
National  Galleiy,  Madame  Tussaud's  Collection,  the  British 
Museum,  Richmond,  the  Kew  Gardens,  and  Bunhill  Fields 
Burying-Ground,  and,  in  particular,  the  grave  of  "  Mr.  John 
Bunyan." 

Not  long  before  leaving  London  she  attended  a  Sunday 
evening  service  for  the  people  in  Westminster  Abbey,  which 
interested  her  deeply.  It  suggested — or  rather  was  the  origi- 
nal of-  -the  scene  in  77ie  Story  Lizzie  Told : 

When  we  first  got  into  that  grand  place,  I  was  scared,  and  thought  they 
would  drive  us  poor  folks  out.  But  when  I  looked  round,  most  everybody 
was  poor  too.  At  last  I  saw  some  of  them  get  down  on  their  knees,  and 
some  shut  their  eyes,  and  some  took  off  their  hats  and  held  them  over  their 
faces.  Father  couldn't,  because  he  had  me  in  liis  arms ;  and  so  I  touk  it 
off,  and  held  it  for  him. 

"  What's  it  for?  "  says  I. 

"  Hush,"  says  father,  "  the  parson's  praying." 

When  I  showed  Ir  to  God,  the  room  seemed  full  of  Him.  But  that's 
d  small  room.  The  church  is  a  million  and  a  billion  times  as  big,  isni  it, 
ma'am  ?  But  when  the  minister  prayed,  that  big  church  seemed  just  as 
full  as  it  could  hold.  Then,  all  of  a  sudden,  they  burst  out  a-singing. 
Father  showed  me  the  card  with  large  letters  on  it,  and  says  he,  "  Sing, 
Lizzie,  Sing  !  " 

And  so  I  did.     It  was  the  first  time  in  my  life.     The  hymn  said, 

Jesus,  lover  of  my  soul, 
Let  me  to  Thy  bosom  fly, 

and  I  whispered  to  father,  "  Is  Jesus  God  "t  "  "  Yes,  yes,"  said  he,  "  Sing, 
Lizzie,  sing  !  " 

After  the  praying  and  the  singing,  came  the  preaching.  I  heard  e\  ery 
word.     It  was  a  beautiful  story.     It  told  how  sorry  Jesus  was  for  us  when 


IN    RKTRI-AT    AMONG   THE    ALPS.  Ujy 

cv-c;  (lid  wrong,  ])ad  things,  and  how  glad  He  was  when  we  were  good  and 
hnppy.  It  said  we  must  tell  Him  all  our  troubles  and  all  our  joys,  and  feci 
sure  that  He  knew  just  how  to  pity  us,  because  He  had  been  a  poor  man 
fhree  and  thirty  years,  on  purpose  to  see  how  it  seemed. 

The  most  stirring  sight  by  far  which  she  witnessed  while 
in  London,  was  a  review  of  20,000  volunteers  by  the  Queen 
in  Hyde  Park,  on  the  23d  of  June.  She  waited  for  it  several 
hours,  standing  much  of  the  time  upon  a  camp-stool  As  her 
Majesty  appeared,  accompanied  by  Prince  Albert,  the  curios- 
ity of  the  immense  crowd  "  rose  to  such  a  pitch  that  every 
conceivable  method  was  resorted  to,  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the 
field.  Men  climbed  on  each  other's  shoulders,  gave  '  fabulous 
prices  '  for  chairs,  boxes,  and  baskets,  raised'  their  wives  and 
sweethearts  high  in  the  air,  and  so  by  degrees  our  view  was 
quite  obstructed."  '  The  scene  did  not,  perhaps,  in  numbers 
or  in  the  brilliant  array  of  fashion,  rank,  and  beauty  surpass, 
nor  in  military  pomp  and  circumstance  did  it  equal,  a  grand 
review  she  had  witnessed  not  long  before  in  the  Champ  de 
Mars;  but  in  other  respects  it  was  far  more  impressive 
Among  the  volunteers  were  thousands  of  young  men  in  whose 
veins  ran  the  best  and  most  precious  blood  in  England.  And 
then  to  an  American  wife  and  mother,  Queen  Victoria  was 
a  million  times  more  interesting  than  Louis  Napoleon.  She 
stood  then,  as  happily  she  still  stands,  at  the  head  of  the  Chris- 
tian womanhood  of  the  world  ;  and  that  in  virtue  not  solely 
of  her  exalted  position  and  influence,  but  of  her  rare  personal 
and  domestic  virtues  as  well.  She  was  then  also  at  the  very 
height  of  her  felicity.  How  little  she  or  any  one  else  in  that 
thronging  multitude  dreamed,  that  before  the  close  of  the 
coming  year  the  form  of  the  noble  Prince,  who  rode  by  her 
side  wearing  an  aspect  of  such  manly  beauty  and  content,  and 
who  was  so  worthy  to  be  her  husband,  would  lie  mouldering 
in  the  grave  !  "^ 

I  An  account  of  the  Volunteer  Review  in  Hyde  Park  is  f;:iven  in  Sir  Tlicodnre  ^fa^tin•s 
admirable  Life  of  the  Prince  Consort,  Vol.  V.,  pp.  105-6,  Am.  Ed.  Tiie  Prince  him 
self,  in  responding  to  a  toast  the  same  evening',  speaks  of  it  as  "a  scene  which  will  never 
fade  from  the  memory  of  those  who  had  the  good  fortune  to  be  present," 

'  It  is  hardly  possible  to  allude  to  the  great  affliction  of  this  illustrious  lady  without 
Ihinking  also  of  the  persistent  acts  of  womanly  sympathy  by  which,  during;  the  an-uisb 


198  THE    LIFE   OF    MRS.    PRENTISS. 

About  the  middle  of  July  Mrs.  Prentiss  with  her  husband 
and  children  left  London  for  Ventnor  on  the  Isle  of  Wight, 
where,  in  spite  of  cold  and  rainy  weather,  she  passed  twD  hap- 
py months.  With  the  exception  of  Chateau  d'Oex,  no  place 
in  Europe  had  proved  to  her  such  a  haven  of  rest.  Miss  Scott, 
the  hostess,  was  kindness  itself.  The  Isle  of  Wight  in  summer 
is  a  little  paradise ;  and  in  the  vicinity  of  Ventnor  are  some  of 
its  loveliest  scenes.  Her  enjoyment  was  enhanced  by  the  so- 
ciety of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jacob  Abbott,  who  were  then  sojourning 
there.  A.n  excursion  taken  with  Mr.  Abbott  was  doubly  attract- 
ive ;  for,  as  m.ight  be  inferred  from  his  books,  he  was  one  of 
the  most  genial  and  instructive  of  companions,  whether  for 
young  or  old.  A  pilgrimage  to  the  home  and  grave  of  the 
Dairyman's  Daughter  and  to  the  grave  of  "  Little  Jane,"  and 
a  day  and  night  at  Alum  Bay,  were  among  the  pleasantest  inci- 
dents of  the  summer  at  Ventnor. 

Of  the  visit  to  "  Little  Jane's  "  grave  she  gives  the  follow-, 
ing  account  in  her  journal : 

yltt^^.  to///. — To-day  being  unusually  fine,  we  undertook  our 
long-talked-of  expedition  to  Brading.  On  reaching  the  church- 
yard we  asked  a  little  boy  who  followed  us  in  if  he  could  point 
out  "  Little  Jane's  "  grave  ;  he  said  he  could  and  led  us  at  once 
to  the  spot.  How  little  s/ie  dreamed  that  pilgrimages  would  be 
made  to  her  grave  !  Our  pigmy  guide  next  conducted  us  to 
the  grave-stones,  where  her  task  was  learned.  "  How  old  are 
you,  little  fellow?"  I  asked.  ''Getting  on  to  five,''  he  replied. 
'And  does  everybody  who  comes  here  give  you  something?" 
''Some  don't."  "That's  very  naughty  of  them,"  I  continued; 
"after  all  your  trouble  they  ought  to  give  you  something."  A 
shrewd  smile  was  his  answer,  and  George  then  gave  him  some 
pennies.  "  What  do  you  do  with  your  pennies  ?"  I  asked.  "I 
puts  them  in  my  pocket."  "And  then  what  do  you  do?"  "I 
saves  them  up."  "  And  what  then  ?  "  "  My  mother  buys  shoes 
when  I  get  enough.     She  is  going  to  buy  me  some  soon  with 

aiul  suspense  of  the  past  two  montlis,  she  has  tiled  to  minister  comfort  to  the  stricken 
wife  of  our  suffcrini,'  and  now  sainted  President.  Certainly,  the  whole  case  is  unique  in 
the  history  of  tlie  world.  By  this  most  tender  and  Christ-like  sympathy,  she  has  en- 
deared lierself  in  a  wonderful  manner  to  the  heart  of  the  American  people.  God  bless 
Qcieen  Victoria  !  they  say  with  one  voice. — Neio  Yorb^  SepUtnber  24,  1S81. 


IN    RETREAT    AMONG    THE    ALPS. 


199 


nath  in  them  !  These  are  dropping  to  pieces"  (no  such  thinfr)_ 
"  If  that  is  the  case,"  quoth  George,  "  I  think  I  must  give  you 
some  more  pennies."  "Thank  you,"  said  the  boy.  "  Do  you 
see  my  sword  ?"  George  then  asked  him  if  he  went  to  church 
and  to  Sunday-school.  "  Oh,  yes,  and  there  was  an  organ,  and 
they  learned  to  sing  psalms."  "And  to  love  God?"  asked 
George.  "Yes,  yes,"  he  answered,  but  not  with  much  unction, 
and  so  we  turned  about  and  came  home. 

As  this  is  to  be  our  last  letter  home,  it  ought  to  be  a  very 
To  Mrs.  brilliant  one,  but  I  am  sure  it  won't  ;  and  when  I  look 
Stearns,    back  over  the  past  two  years  and   think  how  many 

]  entnor,  . 

Aug.  24,  Stupid  ones  I  have  written  you,  I  feel  almost  ashamed 
of  m3^self.  Dut  on  the  other  hand  I  wonder  I  have 
written  no  duller  ones,  for  our  staying  so  long  at  a  time  in  one 
place  has  given  small  chance  for  variety  and  description.  It  is 
raining  and  blowing  at  a  rate  that  you,  who  are  roasting  at 
home,  can  hardly  conceive  ;  we  agreed  yesterday  that  if  you 
were  blindfolded  and  suddenly  set  dowm  here  and  told  to  guess 
what  season  of  the  year  it  was,  you  would  judge  by  your  feel- 
ings and  the  wind  roaring  down  the  chimney,  that  it  was  De- 
cember. However  disagreeable  this  may  be  it  is  more  invigor- 
ating than  hot  weather,  and  George  and  the  children  h^ive  all 
improved  very  much.  George  enjoys  bathing  and  climbing  the 
"downs"  and  the  children  are  out  nearly  all  day  when  it  does 
not  rain.  You  may  remember  that  the  twilight  is  late  in  En- 
gland, and  even  the  baby  is  often  out  till  half-past  eight  or 

nine I  just  keep  my  head  above  water  by  having   no 

cares  or  fatigue  at  night.  I  feel  dreadfully  that  I  am  so  help- 
less a  creature,  but  I  believe  God  keeps  me  so  for  my  mortifi- 
cation and  improvement,  and  that  1  ought  to  be  willing  to  lead 
this  good-for-nothing  life  if  He  chooses.  We  have  had  the 
pleasure  of  meeting  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Abbott  here.  They  have 
gone  now  to  spend  the  winter  in  Paris.  Mrs.  A.  sent  her  love 
to  you  again  and  again,  and  I  was  very  glad  to  meet  her  for 
your  sake  as  well  as  her  own,  and  to  know  Mr.  A.  better  than  I 
did  before,  and  it  was  very  pleasant  to  George  to  chat  with 
him.  Wc  walked  together  to  see  Shanklin  Chine.  A.  went 
with  us,  and  Mr.  Abbott  amused  her  so  on  the  way  ihat  she 
came  home  quite  dissatisfied  with  her  stupid  papa  and  mamma 


;,00  THE    LIFE    OF    MRS.    PRENTISS. 

We  are  talking  of  little  else  now  but  getting  home,  and  it  is 
a  pity  you  could  not  take  down  the  walls  of  our  hidden  souls 
and  see  the  various  wishes  and  feelings  we  have  on  the  subject. 
I  forgot  to  say  how  glad  we  were  that  you  found  George  Pren- 
tiss such  a  nice  boy/  I  always  loved  him  for  Abby's  sake  and  he 
certainly  was  worthy  of  the  affection  she  felt  for  him  as  the  most 
engaging  child  I  ever  knew  ;  he  is  a  thorough  Prentiss  still,  it 
seems.  What  is  he  going  to  be  ?  You  must  feel  queer  to  have 
a  boy  in  college  ;  it  is  like  a  strange  dream.  Our  boys  are  two 
spunky  little  toads  who  need,  or  will  need,  all  our  energies  to 
bring  up.  I  have  quite  got  my  hand  out,  M.  is  so  good— and 
hate  to  begin.  But  good-bye,  with  love  to  mother,  Mr.  S.  and 
the  children. 

The  family  embarked  at  Cowes  on  the  magnificent  steam- 
ship ''Adriatic,"  September  13th,  and,  after  a  rough  voyage, 
reached  New  York  on  the  24th  of  the  same  month.  Old 
friends  awaited  their  coming  and  welcomed  them  home  again 
with  open  arms.  It  was  a  happy  day  for  Mrs.  Prentiss,  and 
in  the  abundance  of  its  joy  she  forgot  the  anxious  and  solitary 
months  through  which  she  had  just  been  passing.  She  came 
back  with  four  children  instead  of  three;  her  husband  was, 
partially  at  least,  restored  to  health  ;  and  she  breathed  once 
more  her  native  air. 

>  The  eldest  son  of  her  brother-in-law,  Mr.  S.  S.  Prentiss,  a  youth  of  rare  promise 
and  wiio  had  especially  endeared  himself  lo  his  Aunt  Abby.  He  died  of  fever  at  Talla 
homa,  Tennessee,  during  the  war. 


CHAPTER   VII 

THE   STRUGGLE   WITH   ILL-HEALTH. 

1861-1S65. 

I. 

At  Home  again  in  New  York.  The  Church  of  the  Covenant.  Increasing  lU-heUth, 
The  Summer  of  1861.  Death  of  Louisa  Payson  Hopkins.  Extracts  from  her  Jour- 
nal.    Summer  of  1S62.     Letters.     Despondency. 

We  come  now  to  a  new  phase  of  Mrs.  Prentiss'  experi- 
ence as  a  pastor's  wife.  Before  her  husband  resigned  his  New 
York  charge,  during  the  winter  of  1857-8,  the  question  of  hold- 
ing a  service  in  the  upper  part  of  the  city,  with  the  view  to  an- 
other congregation,  was  earnestly  discussed  in  the  session  and 
among  the  leading  members  of  the  church,  but  nothing  then 
came  of  it.  Soon  after  his  return  from  Europe,  however,  the 
project  w^as  revived,  and  resulted  at  length  in  the  formation 
of  the  Church  of  the  Covenant.  In  consequence  of  the  great 
civil  war,  which  was  then  raging,  the  undertaking  encoun- 
tered difficulties  so  formidable,  that  nothing  but  extraordinary 
zeal,  liberality,  and  wise  counsel  on  the  part  of  his  friends  and 
the  friends  of  the  movement  could  overcome  them.  For  two 
or  three  years  the  new  congregation  held  service  in  what  was 
then  called  Dodworth's  Studio  Building  at  the  corner  of  Fifth 
avenue  and  Twenty-sixth  street,  but  in  1864  it  entered  the 
chapel  on  Thirty-fifth  street,  and  in  1865  occupied  the  stately 
edifice  on  Park  avenue.  In  the  manifold  labors,  trials,  and  dis- 
couragements connected  with  this  work,  Mrs.  Prentiss  shared 
with  her  husband;  and,  when  finally  crowned  with  the  happiest 
success,  it  owed  perhaps  as  much  to  her  as  to  him.  This  brief 
statement  seems  needful  in  order  to  define  and  render  clear 
her  position,  as  a  pastor's  wife,  during  the  next  twelve  years. 

(2011 


202  THE   LIFE   OP    MRS.    PRENTISS. 

After  spending  some  weeks  in  Newark  and  Portland,  she 
found  herself  once  more  in  New  York  in  a  home  of  her  own 
and  surrounded  by  friends,  both  old  and  new.  The  records 
of  the  following  four  or  five  years  are  somewhat  meagre  and 
furnish  few  incidents  of  special  significance.  The  war,  with 
its  terrible  excitement  and  anxieties,  absorbed  all  minds  and 
left  little  spare  time  for  thought  or  feeling  about  anything 
else.  Domestic  and  personal  interests  were  entirely  over- 
shadowed by  the  one  supreme  interest  of  the  hour — that  of 
the  imperiled  National  life.  It  was  for  Mrs.  Prentiss  a  period 
also  of  almost  continuous  ill-health.  The  sleeplessness  from 
which  she  had  already  suffered  so  much  assumed  more  and 
more  a  chronic  character,  and,  aggravated  by  other  ailments 
and  by  the  frequent  illness  of  her  younger  children,  so  under- 
mined her  strength,  that  life  became  at  times  a  heavy  burden. 
She  felt  often  that  her  days  of  usefulness  were  past.  But  the 
Master  had  yet  a  great  work  for  her  to  do,  and — 

In  ways  various,    . 

Or,  might  I  say,  contrarious — 

He  was  training  her  for  it  during  these  years  of  bodily  infirm- 
ity and  suffering. 

The  summer  of  1861  Avas  passed  at  Newport.  In  a  letter 
to  Mrs.  Smith,  dated  July  28th,  she  writes: 

We  find  the  Cliff  House  delightful,  within  a  few  minutes' 
walk  of  the  sea,  which  we  have  in  full  view  from  one  of  our 
windows.  And  we  have  no  lack  of  society,  for  the  Bancrofts, 
Miss  Aspinwall  and  her  sister,  as  well  as  the  Skinners,  are  very 
friendly.  Piut  I  am  so  careworn  and  out  of  sorts,  that  this 
beautiful  ocean  gives  me  little  comfort.  I  seem  to  be  all  the 
time  toting  one  child  or  another  about,  or  giving  somebody 
paregoric  or  rhubarb,  or  putting  somebody  to  sleep,  or  scold- 
ing somebody  for  waking  up  papa,  who  is  miserable,  and  his 
oration  untouched.  There,  don't  mind  me  ;  it  s  at  the  end  of  a 
churchless  Sunday,  and  I  dare  say  I  am  "only  peevis',"  as  the 
little  boy  said. 

But   in  a  few  weeks  the  children  were  well  again  and  hei 


THE    STRUGGLE    Wl'lll    1 1.l.-I  lEALTIT.  2C3 

Dwn  health  so  much  improved,  that  she  was  able  to  indulge 
in  surf-bathing,  which  she  "enjoyed  tremendously,"  and  early 
in  the  fall  the  whole  family  returned  to  town  greatly  refreshed 
by  the  summer's  rest. 

On  the  24th  of  January,  1862,  her  sister,  j\Irs.  Hopkins, 
died.  This  event  touched  her  deeply.  She  hurried  off  to 
VVilliamstown,  whence  she  wrote  to  her  husband,  who  was  un- 
able to  accompany  her : 

If  you  had  known  that  I  should  not  get  here  till  half-past 
nine  last  night,  and  that  in  an  open  sleigh  from  North  Adams, 
you  would  not  have  let  me  come.  But  so  far  I  am  none  the 
worse  for  it  ;  and,  when  I  came  in  and  found  the  Professor  and 
T.  and  Eddy  sitting  here  all  alone  and  so  forlorn  in  their  un- 
accustomed leisure,  I  could  not  be  thankful  enough  that  a  kind 
Providence  had  allowed  me  to  come.  It  is  a  very  great  gratifi- 
cation to  them  all,  especially  to  the  Professor,  and  even  more 
so  than  I  had  anticipated.  In  view  of  the  danger  of  being 
blocked  up  by  another  snow-storm,  I  shall  probably  think  it 
best  to  return  by  another  route,  which  they  all  say  is  the  best. 
I  hope  you  and  my  precious  children  keep  well. 

No  picture  of  Mrs.  Prentiss'  life  would  be  complete,  in 
which  her  sister's  influence  was  not  distinctly  visible.  To  tliis 
influence  she  owed  the  best  part  of  her  earlier  intellectual 
training;  and  it  did  much  to  mould  her  whole  character.  Mrs. 
Hopkins  was  one  of  the  most  learned,  as  well  as  most  gifted, 
women  of  her  day;  and  had  not  ill-health  early  disabled  hex 
for  literary  labors,  she  might,  perhaps,  have  won  for  herself 
an  enduring  name  in  the  literature  of  the  country.  There 
were  striking  points  of  resemblance  between  her  and  Sara 
Coleridge  ;  the  same  early  intellectual  bloom  ;  the  same  rare 
union  of  feminine  delicacy  and  sensibility  with  masculine 
strength  and  breadth  of  understanding;  the  same  taste  for  the 
beautiful  in  poetry,  in  art,  and  in  nature,  joined  to  similar 
fondness  for  metaphysical  studies ;  the  same  delight  in  books 
of  devotion  and  in  books  of  theology ;  and  the  same  varied 
erudition.  Only  one  of  them  seems  to  have  been  an  accon:- 
plished   Hebraist,  but  both  were  good  Latin  and  Greek  scIkjI 


204  THE    LIFE    OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

ars ;  and  both  were  familiar  with  Italian,  Spanish,  French,  and 
German.  Even  in  Sara  Coleridge's  admiration  and  reverence 
for  her  father,  Mrs.  Hopkins  was  in  full  sympathy  with  her. 
She  lacked,  indeed,  that  poetic  fancy  which  belonged  to  the 
author  of  "  Phantasmion  ;  "  nor  did  she  possess  her  mental  self- 
poise  and  firmness  of  will ;  but  in  other  respects,  even  in 
physical  organization  and  certain  features  of  countenance, 
they  were  singularly  alike.  And  they  both  died  in  the  fiftieth 
year  of  their  age. 

Louisa  Payson  was  born  at  Portland,  Februar}^  24,  1812. 
Even  as  a  child  she  was  the  object  of  tender  interest  to  hei 
father  on  account  of  her  remarkable  intellectual  promise.  He 
took  the  utmost  pains  to  aid  and  encourage  her  in  learning  to 
study  and  to  think.  The  impression  he  made  upon  her  may 
be  seen  in  the  popular  little  volume  entitled  "  The  Pastor's 
Daughter,"  Avhich  consists  largely  of  conversations  with  him, 
written  out  from  memory  after  his  death.  She  was  then  in 
her  sixteenth  year.  The  records  of  the  next  eight  years, 
Avhich  were  mostly  spent  in  teaching,  are  very  meagre ;  but  a 
sort  of  literary  journal,  kept  by  her  between  1835  and  1840, 
shows  something  of  her  mental  quality  and.  character,  as  also 
of  her  course  of  reading.  She  was  twenty-three  years  old 
when  the  journal  opens.     Here  are  a  few  extracts  from  it : 

Boston,  A^ov.  18,  1835. 

Last  evening  I  passed  in  company  with  Mr.  Dana.'  I  conversed  with 
him  only  for  a  few  moments  about  Mr.  Alcott's  school,  and  had  not  time  to 
ask  one  of  the  ten  thousand  questions  I  wished  to  ask.  I  have  been  trying 
t<>  analyse  the  feeling  I  have  for  men  of  genius,  Coleridge,  Wordsworth  and 
Dana,  for  example.  I  can  understand  why  I  feel  for  them  unbounded  ad- 
miration, reverence  and  affection,  but  I  hardly  know  why  there  should  be 
so  much  excitement— painful  excitement— mingled  with  these  emotions. 
Next  to  possessing  genius  myself  would  be  the  pleasure  of  living  with  one 
who  possessed  it. 

Nero.  19///.— I  have  read  to-day  one  canto  of  Dante's  Inferno  and  eight 
or  ten  pages  of  Cicero  de  Amicitia.     In  this,  as  well  as  in  de  Senectute 
vvliich  I  have  just  finished,  I  am  much  interested.     I  confess  I  am  not  a  lit- 
tie  surprised  to  find  how  largely  the  moderns  are  indebted  to  the  ancients 
how  many  wise  observations  on  life,  and  death,  the  soul,  time,  eternity 

■  Richard  H.  Dana,  the  poet. 


THE   STRUGGLE   WITH    ILI.-HF AT.TH.  205 

stc,  have  been  repeated  by  the  sages  of  every  g-eneration  since  the  da /s  o< 
Cicero. 

Ja7t.  i^th,  1836.— 1  spent  last  evening  with  Mr.  Dana,  and  the  conver- 
sation was,  of  course,  of  great  interest.  We  talked  of  some  of  the  leading 
Reviews  of  the  day,  and  then  of  the  character  of  our  literature  as  connected 
with  our  political  institutions.  This  led  to  a  long  discussion  of  the  latter 
subject,  but  as  the  same  views  are  expressed  in  Mr.  D.'s  article  on  Law,  I 
shall  pass  it  over.'  I  differed  from  him  in  regard  to  the  French  comedit  3, 
especially  those  of  Moliere ;  however,  he  allowed  that  they  contain  genuine 
humor,  but  they  are  confined  to  the  exhibition  oi  07ie  ridiculous  point  in  the 
character,  instead  of  giving  us  the  whole  man  as  Shakespeare  does. 

Sept.  lid. — This  morning  I  have  had  one  of  the  periods  of  insight, 
when  the  highest  spiritual  truths  pertaining  to  the  divine  and  human  nat- 
ures, become  their  own  light  and  evidence,  as  well  as  the  evidence  of  other 
truths.  No  speculations,  no  ridicule  can  shake  my  faith  in  that  which  I 
thus  see  and/*W.  1  was  particularly  interested  in  thinking  of  the  regenera- 
tion of  the  spirit  and  the  part  which  Faith,  Hope,  and  Love,  have  in  effect- 
ing it. 

Sab.  2yi. — It  seems  to  me  that  this  truth  alone,  there  is  a  God,  is  suffi- 
cient, rightly  believed,  to  make  every  human  being  absolutely  and  perfectly 
happy. 

Ja7t.  i^f/i,  1S39. — Wednesday  evening  attended  Mr.  Emerson's  lectiu-e 
on  Genius,  of  which  I  shall  attempt  to  say  nothing  except  that  it  was  most 
delightful.  Thursday  morning  Mr.  Emerson''  called  to  see  me  and  gave  me 
a  ticket  for  his  course.     Afterwards  Mr.  Dana  called. 

It  seems  to  me  that  I  have  lived  backwards ;  in  other  words,  the  ficul- 
ties  of  my  mind  which  were  earliest  developed,  were  those  which  in  other 
minds  come  last — reflection  and  solidity  of  judgment  ;  while  fancy  and 
imagination,  in  so  far  as  I  have  any  at  all,  have  followed. 

Sat.  Jan.  26tk. — My  occupations  in  the  way  of  books  at  present,  con- 
sist in  reading  "Antigone,"  Guizot's  "History,"  Lockhart's  "Scott,"  and 
sundries.  I  am  also  translating  large  extracts  from  Claiulius,  with  a  view 
to  writing  an  article  about  him,  if  the  fates  shall  so  will  it.^ 

Thurs.  Jan.  31^-/. — Mr.  Emerson's  lecture  last  night  was  on  Comedv. 
He  professed  to  enter  on  the  subject  with  reluctance,  as  conscious  of  a  de- 
ficiency in  the  organ  of  the  ludicrous — a  profession,  however,  that  was 
not  substantiated  very  well  by  the  lecture  itself,  which  convulserl  the  audi- 
ence with  laughter.  He  spoke  in  the  commencement  of  the  silent  history 
written  in  the  faces  of  an  assembly,  making  them  as  interesting  to  a  spec- 
tator as  if  their  lives  were  written  in  their  features. 

'  The  article  referred  to  appeared  in  The  Biblical  Repository  and  Quarterly  Qlisei-vei 
for  January,  1835.     Vol  V.,  pp.  1-32.     It  is  entitled,  "What  form  of  I^w  !;.  best  suited 
\o  the  individual  and  social  nature  of  man  ?" 
'•*  Mr.  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 
^The  article  appeared  in  the  New  York  Review  for  July,  1839. 


2o6  THE    T.TFF,    OF   MRS.    PRENTTSS. 

25M. T    began   yesterday   Schleiermacher's   "  Christliche    Glaube  " — a 

profound,  learned,  and  difficult  work,  I  am  told— Jouffroy's  "  Philosophical 
Writings,"  Landor's  "Pericles  and  Aspasia,"  and  "The  Gurney  Papers, 
Considering  that  1  was  already  in  the  midst  of  several  books,  this  is  rather 
loo  much,  but  I  could  not  help  it ;  the  books  were  lent  me  and  must  be 
read  and  returned  speedily.  I  have  been  all  the  morning  employed  in  writ- 
ing  an  abstract  of  the  Report  of  the  Prison  Discipline  Society,  and  am 
wearied  and  stupefied. 

Jan.  -jth,  1840.— Went  to  Mr.  Ripley's  where  I  met  Dr.  Channing,  and 
listened  to  a  discussion  of  Spinoza's  religious  opinions.  This  afternoon  Mr. 
D.  came  again  ;  talked  about  the  Trinity  and  other  theological  points.  This 
evening,  heard  Prof.  Silliman.  I  have  nearly  finished  Fichte,  and  like  him 
on  the  whole  exceedingly,  though  I  think  he  errs  in  placing  the  roots  of  the 
speculative  in  the  practical  reason.  It  seems  to  me  that  neither  grows  out 
of  the  other,  but  that  they  are  coincident  spheres.  Still,  there  is  a  truth,  a 
great  truth,  in  what  he  says.  It  is  true  that  action  is  often  the  most  effect- 
ual remedy  against  speculative  doubts  and  perplexities.  When  you  are  in 
the  dark  about  this  or  that  point,  ask  what  command  does  conscience  im- 
pose upon  me  at  this  moment — obey  it  and  you  will  find  light. 

These  extracts  will  suffice  to  show  the  quality  and  extent 
of  her  reading.  What  sort  of  fruit  her  reading  and  study 
bore  may  be  seen  by  her  articles  on  Claudius  and  Goethe,  in 
the  New  York  Review.  No  abler  discussion  of  the  genius 
and  writings  of  Goethe  had  at  that  time  appeared  in  this 
country;  while  the  article  on  Claudius  was  probably  the  first 
to  make  him  known  to  American  readers. 

During  many  of  the  later  years  of  her  life  Mrs.  Hopkins 
was  a  martyr  to  ill-health.  The  story  of  her  sufferings,  both 
physical  and  mental,  as  artlessly  told  in  little  diaries  which 
she  kept,  is  *'  wondrous  pitiful ;  "  no  pen  of  fiction  couid  equal 
its  simple  pathos.  Again  and  again,  as  she  herself  knew,  she 
was  on  the  very  verge  of  insanity;  nothing,  probably,  saving 
her  from  it  but  the  devotion  of  her  husband,  who  with  untir- 
ing patience  and  a  mother's  tenderness  ministered,  in  season 
and  out  of  season,  to  her  relief.  Often  would  he  steal  ho-me 
irom  his  beloved  Observatory,  where  he  had  been  teaching  his 
students  how  to  watch  the  stars,  and  pass  a  sleepless  night  at 
her  bedside,  reading  to  her  and  by  all  sorts  of  gentle  appli- 
ances trjn'ng  to  soothe  her  irritated  nerves.  And  this  devotion 
ran  on,  without  variableness  or  shadow  of  turning,  year  after 


THE    STRUGGLE    WITH    ILL-1 1  EAl.TTI.  207 

>^ear,    giving    itself    no    rest    until    her   eyes  were    closed    in 
death.' 

Let  us  now  resume  our  narrative.  A  portion  of  the  sum- 
mer of  1862  was  passed  by  Mrs.  Prentiss  at  Newport.  Her 
season  of  rest  was  again  invaded  by  severe  illness  among  hej 
children.  Under  date  of  August  3d,  she  writes  to  Mrs. 
Smith : 

I  can  see  that  our  landlady,  who  has  good  sense  and  experi  • 
ence,  thinks  G.  will  not  get  well.  Sometimes,  in  awful  mo- 
ments, I  think  so  too  ;  but  then  I  cheer  up  and  get  quite 
elated.  Last  night  as  I  lay  awake,  too  weary  to  sleep,  I  heard 
a  harsh,  rasping  sound  like  a  large  saw.  I  thought  some  ani- 
mal unknown  to  me  must  be  making  it,  it  was  so  regular  and 
frequent.  But  after  a  time  I  found  it  was  a  dying  young  sol- 
dier who  lives  farther  from  this  house  than  Miss  H.  does  from 
our  house  in  New  York.  His  fearful  cough  !  Oh,  this  war  ! 
this  war  !  I  never  hated  and  revolted  against  it  as  I  did  then. 
I  had  heard  some  one  say  such  a  j^oung  man  lay  dying  of  con- 
sumption in  this  street,  but  till  then  was  too  absorbed  with  my 
own  incessant  cares  to  hear  the  cough,  as  the  rest  had  done.  I 
never  realised  how  I  felt  about  our  country  till  I  found  the  ter- 
ror of  losing  a  link  out  of  that  little  golden  chain  that  encir- 
cles my  sweetest  joys,  was  a  kindred  suffering.  Have  the  times 
ever  looked  so  black  as  they  do  now  ?  We  seem  to  be  drifting 
round  without  chart  or  pilot. 

Two  weeks  later,  August  17th,  she  writes  to  her  cousin, 
Miss  Shipman  : 

G.  is  really  up  and  about,  looking  thin  and  white,  and  feel- 
ing hungry  and  weak  ;  but  little  H.  has  been  sick  with  the  same 
disease  these  ten  days  past.  I  got  your  letter  and  the  little  cat, 
for  which  G.  and  I  thank  you  very  much.  I  should  tliinl:  i( 
would  about  kill  you  to  cook  all  day  even  for  our  soldiers,  but 
on  the  whole  can  not  blame  any  one  who  wants  to  get  killed  in 
tlieir  service.  I  am  impressed  more  and  more  with  their  claims 
upon  us,  who  confront  every  danger  and  undergo  every  suffer- 

'  Some  passag:es  from  the  little  diaries  referred  to,  together  with  further  extracts  froro 
her  literary  journal,  will  be  found  in  appendix  D,  p.  5-11. 


208  THE    LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

ing,  while  we  sit  at  home  at  our  ease.  However,  the  ease  1 
have  enjoyed  during  the  last  live  weeks  has  not  been  of  a  very 
luxurious  kind,  and  I  have  felt  almost  discouraged,  as  day  after 
day  of  confinement  and  night  after  night  of  sleeplessness  has 
pulled  down  my  strength.  But,  what  am  I  doing,?  Complain- 
ing, instead  of  rejoicing  that  I  am  not  left  unchastised. 

After  a  careworn  summer  at  Newport,  she  went  with  the 
children  to  Williamstown,  where  a  month  was  passed  with  her 
brother-in-law.  Professor  Hopkins.  The  following  letters  re- 
late to  this  visit : 

I  am  glad  to  find  that  you  place  reliance  on  the  reports  of 
our  late  victory,  for  I  have  been  in  great  suspense,  see- 
Husbajid,  ing  only  The  World,  which  was  throwing  up  its  hat  and 
^^yjw}t"^'  declaring  the  war  virtually  ended.     I  have  no  faith  in 
Sept.  19,    such  premature  assertions,  of  which  we  have  had  so 
many,  but  was  most  anxious   to  know  your  opinion. 
Do  not  fail  to  keep  me  informed  of  what  is  going  on.     The 
children  are  all  out  of  doors  and  enjoying  themselves.     The 
Professor  has  gone  on  horseback  to  see  about  his  buckwheat. 
He   took   me  up   there    yesterday  afternoon,  and    I    crawled 
through  forty  fences   (more  or  less)  and  got  a  vast  amount  of 
exercise,  which  did  not  result  in  any  better  sleep,  however,  than 
no  exercise  does.     Caro.  H.  read  me  yesterday  a  most  interest- 
ing letter  from  her  brother  Henry,  describing  the  scene  at  Bull 
Run  when  he  went  there  five  days  after  the  battle.     It  is  very 
painful  to  find  such  mismanagement  as  he  deplores.     He  gave 
a  most  touching  account  of  a  young  fellow  who  lay  mortally 
wounded,  where  he  had  lain  uncared-for  with  his  companions 
the  five  days,  and  whom  they  were  obliged  to  decline  removing, 
as   they  had   only  room   for  a    portion   of    the    hopeful   cases. 
After  beseeching  Mr.  H.  to  see  that  he  was  removed,  and  en- 
treating to  know  when  and  how  he  was  ever   to  get  home  if 
they  left  him,  he  was  told  that    it  was  not  possible   to   make 
room  for  him  in  this  train  of  ambulances.     As  Mr.  H.  tore  him- 
seif  away,  he  heard  him  say, 

"  Here,  Lorcl  I  give  myself  away ; 
'Tis  all  that  I  can  do." 

The  torture  of   the  wounded   men  in   the  ambulances  was   sc 


THE   STRUGGLE    WITH    ILL-HEALTH.  209 

frightful,  that  Mr.  H.  gave  each  of  them  morphine  enough  to  kill 
three  well  men.  They  "cried  for  it  like  dogs  and  licked  my 
hands  lest  they  should  lose  a  drop,"  he  adds.  As  a  contrast  to 
this  letter,  some  of  the  new  recruits  came  into  the  Professor's 
grounds  yesterday  to  get  bouquets,  and  thought  if  their  folks 
had  a  "yard"  so  gayly  decked  with  flowers  they  would  fee  I 
set  up. 

I  have  been  feeling  languid,  or  lazy,  ever  since  I  came  here, 
To  Mrs.    ^"<^  fo^  a  few  days  past  have  been  miserable  ;  but  I 
^ii<imsti!^^^  ^^"^''  to-day.     This  place  is  perfectly  lovely  and 
iiept.  25,'  grows  upon   me  every  day.     But  the  Professor  is  en- 
tirely absorbed  in  his  loss.     He  does  not  know  it,  or 
else  thinks  he  does  not  show  it,  for  he  makes  no  complaint,  but 
it  is  in  every  tone  and  word  and  look.    It  is  plain  that  Louisa's 
ill-health,  which  might  have  weaned  a  selfish  man  from  her, 
only  endeared  her  to  him  ;  she  was  so  entirely  his  object  day 
and  night,  that  he  misses  her  and  the  care  of  her,  as  a  mother 
does   her  sick   child.     If  we  ride   out  he   says,  "Here   I    often 
came  with  her ;  "  if  a  bird  sings,  "  That  is  a  note  she  used  to 
love;"  if  we  see  a  flower,   "That  is  one  of  the   flowers   she 
loved."    He  has  an  astonishing  amount  of  journal  manuscripts, 

and  I  think  may  in  time  prepare  something  from  them 

Isn't  it  frightful  how  cotton  goods  have  run  up  !  I  gave  twenty 
cents  for  a  yard  of  silicia  (is  that  the  way  to  spell  it  ?)  and 
suppose  everything  else  has  rushed  up  too.  I  hope  you  are 
prepared  to  tell  me  exactly  what  to  buy  and  instruct  me  in  the 
way  I  should  go. 

I  spent  yesterday  forenoon  looking  over  Louisa's  papers  and 
To  her     ^ound   an   enormous   mass   of    manuscript;    journals, 
ivlwanfs-  ^^^^^^^  books,  translations,  and  work  enough  planned 
ioivn,  Sept.  and  begun  for  many  lifetimes.     It  was  very  depress- 
ing.    One's  only  refuge  is  faith  in  God,  and   in   ilie 
ccriaiiity  that  her  lingering  illness  was  more  acceptable  to  Him 
than  years  of  active  usefulness,  and  such  extraordinary  useful- 
ness even  as  she  was  so  fitted  for.    I  read  over  some  of  my  own 
letters  written  many,  many  years  ago  ;  and  the  sense  this  gave 
me  of  lost  youth  and  vivacity  and  energy,  was,  for  a  time,  must 

painful I  have  felt  for  a  long  while  greatly  discouraged 

14 


210  THE    LIFE   OF    MRS.    PRENTISS. 

and  depressed,  yes,  weary  of  my  life,  because  it  seems  to  me 
that  broken  down  and  worn  out  as  I  am,  and  full  of  faults 
tinder  which  I  groan,  being  burdened,  I  could  not  make  you 
happy.  But  your  last  letter  comforted  me  a  good  deal.  I  see 
little^for  us  to  do  but  what  you  suggest  :  to  cheer  each  other 
up  and  wear  out  rather  than  rust  out.  It  is  more  and  more 
clear  to  me,  that  patience  is  our  chief  duty  on  earth,  and  that 
w^e  can  not  rest  here. 

I  am  anxious  to  know  what  you  think  of  the  President's 
Proclamation.'  The  Professor  likes  it.  He  seems  able  to  think 
of  little  but  his  loss.  Even  when  speaking  in  the  most  cheerful 
way,  tears  fill  his  eyes,  and  the  other  day  putting  a  letter  into 
my  hands  to  read,  he  had  to  run  out  of  the  room.  The  letter 
stated  that  fifty  young  persons  owed  their  conversion  to  Loui- 
sa's books  ;  it  was  written  some  years  ago.  His  mother  spent 
Saturday  here.  She  is  very  bright  and  cheerful  and  full  of  sly 
humor  ;  he  did  everything  to  amuse  her  and  she  enjoyed  her 
visit  amazingly.  I  long  to  see  you.  Letters  are  more  and 
more  unsatisfactory,  delusive  things.  M.  is  going  to  have  a 
"party"  this  afternoon,  and  is  going  to  one  this  forenoon. 
The  others  are  bright  and  busy  as  bees.     Good-bye. 

A  tinge  of  sadness  is  perceptible  in  most  of  her  letters 
during  this  year.  Her  sister's  death,  the  fearful  state  of  the 
country,  protracted  sickness  among  her  children,  and  her  own 
frequent  ill-turns  and  increasing  sense  of  feebleness,  all  con- 
spired to  produce  this  effect.  But  in  truth  her  heart  was  still 
as  young  as  e\er  and  a  touch  of  sympathy,  or  an  appeal  to 
her  love  of  nature,  instantly  made  it  manifest.  An  extract 
ironi  a  letter  to  Miss  Anna  Warner,  dated  New  York,  Decem- 
ber i6th,  may  serve  as  an  instance: 

I  wanted  to  write  a  book  when  the  trunk  came  this  aflei- 
noon  ;  that  is,  a  book  full  of  thanks  and  exclamation  marks. 
You  could  not  have  bought  with  money  anything  for  my 
Christmas  present,  that  could  give  half  the  pleasure.  I  shut 
myself  up  in  my  little  room  up-stairs  (I  declare  I  don't  believe 
you  saw  that  room!  did  you?),  and  there  I  spread  out  my 
mosses  and  my  twigs  and  my  cones  and  my  leaves  and  admired 

J  The  Proclamation  of  Eiuancipation. 


THE    STRUGGLE   WITH    TLL-IIEALTH.  21  l 

them  till  I  had  to  go  out  and  walk  to  compose  myself.  Then 
the  children  came  home  and  they  all  admired  too,  and  amon^ 
us  we  upset  my  big  work-basket  and  my  little  work-basket, 
and  didn't  any  of  us  care.  My  only  fear  is  that  with  all  yon 
had  to  do  you  did  too  much  for  me.  Those  little  red  moss 
Clips  are  too  lovely  !  and  as  to  all  those  leaves  how  I  shall  leaf 
out !  G.  asked  me  who  sent  me  all  those  beaut." ful  things. 
"Miss  Warner,"  quoth  I  absently.  "Didn't  Miss  Anna  send 
any  of  them?"  he  exclaimed.  So  you  see  3^ou  twain  do  not 
pass  as  one  ilesh  here.  I  have  read  all  the  "  Books  of  Blessing  "  ' 
save  Gertrude  and  her  Cat — but  though  I  like  them  all  very 
much,  my  favorite  is  still  "  The  Prince  in  Disguise."  If  you 
come  across  a  little  book  called  "Ernest,"^  published  by  Ran- 
dolph, do  read  it.  It  is  one  of  the  few  r^^z/ books  and  ought 
to  do  good.  I  have  outdone  myself  in  picture-frames  since  y(Hi 
left.  I  got  a  pair  of  nippers  and  some  wire,  which  were  of 
great  use  in  the  operation.  I  am  now  busy  on  Mr.  Bull,  toi 
Mr.  Prentiss'  study. 

To  one  of  her  sisters-in-law  she  wrote,  under  the  same 
date  : 

I  do  not  know  as  I  ever  was  so  discouraged  about  my  health 
as  I  have  been  this  fall.  Sometimes  I  think  my  constitution  is 
quite  broken  down,  and  that  I  never  shall  be  good  for  anything 
again.  However,  I  do  not  worry  one  way  or  the  other  but  try 
to  be  as  patient  as  I  can.  I  have  been  a  good  deal  better  for 
some  days,  and  if  you  could  see  our  house  you  would  not  be- 
lieve a  word  about  my  not  being  well,  and  would  know  my 
saying  so  was  all  a  sham.  To  tell  the  truth,  it  does  look  like  a 
garden,  and  when  I  am  sick  I  like  to  lie  and  look  at  what  I  did 
when  I  wasn't ;  my  wreaths,  and  my  crosses,  and  my  vines,  and 
my  toadstools,  and  other  fixins.  Yesterday  I  made  a  bonnet 
of  which  I  am  justly  proud  ;  to-morrow  I  expect  to  go  int-j 
mosses  and  twigs,  of  which  Miss  Anna  Warner  has  just  sent 
me  a  lot.  She  and  her  sister  were  here  about  a  fortnight.  The> 
grow  good  so  fast  that  there  is  no  keeping  track  of  them. 
Does  any  body  in  Portland  take  their  paper  ? '  The  children  are 
all  looking  forward  to  Christmas  with  great  glee.    It  is  a  mercj 

*  By  Anna  Warner.  =  py  i,er  friend,  Mrs.  Frederick  G.  Burnham. 

»  "The  Little  CorooraJ  " 


212  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

tliere  are  any  children  to  keep  up  one's  spirits  in  these  times 
Was  there  ever  anything  so  dreadful  as  the  way  in  which  oui 
army  has  just  been  driven  back  !♦'  But  if  we  had  had  a  bril- 
liant victory  perhaps  the  people  would  have  clamored  against 
the  emancipation  project,  and  anything  is  better  than  the  per- 
petuation  of  slavery. 

Our  congregation  is  fuller  than  ever,  but  there  is  no  chance 
of  building  even  a  chapel.  Shopping  i^  pleasant  business  now- 
a-days,  isn't  it  ?     We  shall  have  to  stop  sewing  and  use  pins. 


II. 

Another  care-worn  Summer.     Letters  from  Williamstown  and  Rockavay.    Hymn  on 
Laying  the  Corner-stone  of  the  Church  of  the  Covenant. 

The  records  of  1863  are  confined  mostly  to  her  letters 
written  during  the  summer.  In  June  she  went  again  with  the 
younger  children  to  Williamstown,  where  she  remained  a 
month.  The  family  then  proceeded  to  Rockaway,  Long 
Island,  and  spent  the  rest  of  the  season  there  in  a  cottage, 
kindly  placed  at  their  disposal  by  Mrs.  William  G.  Bull.  They 
passed  through  New  York  barely  in  time  to  escape  the  ter- 
rible riots,  which  raged  there  with  such  fury  in  the  early  part 
of  July.  A  few  extracts  from  her  letters  belonging  to  this 
period  follow : 

I  hope  you'll  not  be  frightened  to  get  a  letter  mailed  here  ; 

anyhow  I  can't  resist  the  temptation  to  write,  though 

Jitishmd,  standing  up    in  a  little  newspaper  office.     We  were 

'^'"'''^j'q^"'"' routed  up  at  half  past  five  this  morning  by  pounds 

and    yells    about   taking   the    "  Northern    Railroad." 

On    leaching   Troy    the    captain    bid    us    hurry  or  we  should 

iosc    the    train,    and    we    did    hurry,    though    I    pretty    well 

foresaw  our   fate,    and    after   a    running   walk    of    a    quarter 

of   a    mile,  we    had    the  felicity  of    finding  the  train  had  left 

'  At  Fredericksburg. 


THE   STRUGGLE    WI'l'lI    1  LI -1 1  KAl.TlI.  213 

and    that    the    next    one    would    not    start    till    twelve.      The 
.ittle  darlings  are  bearing  the  disappointment  sweetly. 

4  P.M. — After  depositing  my  note  in  the  Post-office,  we 
strolled  about  awhile  and  then  came  across  to  a  hotel,  where  I 
ordered  a  lunch-dinner.  We  got  through  at  twelve  and  marched 
to  the  station,  expecting  to  start  at  once,  when  M.  came  run- 
ning up  to  me  declaring  there  was  no  train  to  Williamstowr 
till  five  o'clock.  My  heart  fairly  turned  over  ;  however,  I  did 
not  believe  it,  but  on  making  inquiries  it  proved  to  be  only  too 
true.  For  a  minute  I  sat  in  silent  despair.  Just  then  the  land- 
lord of  the  hotel  drew  nigh  and  said  to  me,  "  You  don't  look 
very  healthy,  Mrs. ;  if  you'll  walk  over  to  my  house,  I  will  give 
you  a  bedroom  free  of  charge  and  you  can  lie  down  and  rest 
awhile."  Over  to  his  house  we  went,  weary  enough.  After 
awhile,  finding  them  all  forlorn,  I  got  a  carriage  and  we  drove 
out ;  on  coming  back  I  ordered  some  ice-cream,  which  built  us 
all  up  amazingly.  The  children  are  now  counting  the  minutes 
till  five.  One  of  the  boys  is  perched  on  a  wash-stand  with 
his  feet  dangling  down  through  the  hole  where  the  bowl  should 
l)e  ;  the  other  is  eating  crackers  ;  the  landlord  is  anxious  I 
should  take  a  glass  of  wine  ;  and  M.  is  everywhere  at  once, 
having  nearly  worn  out  my  watch-pocket  to  see  what  time  it 
was. 

Monday^  June  21st. — It  is  now  going  on  a  fortnight  since  we 
left  home.  Oh,  if  it  were  God's  will,  how  I  should  love  to  get 
well,  pay  you  back  some  of  the  debts  I  owe  you,  be  a  better 
mother  to  my  children,  write  some  more  books,  and  make  you 
love  me  so  you  wouldn't  know  what  to  do  with  yourself  !  Just 
to  see  how  it  would  seem  to  be  well,  and  to  show  you  what  a 
splendid  creature  I  could  be,  if  once  out  of  the  harness  !  A 
modest  little  list  you  will  say  !....!  said  to  myself.  Is  it 
after  all  such  a  curse  to  suffer  and  to  be  a  source  of  suffering  to 
others  ?  Isn't  it  worth  while  to  pay  something  for  warm  human 
sympathies  and  something  for  rich  experience  of  God's  love 
and  wisdom  ?  And  I  felt,  that  for  you  to  have  a  radiant,  cheer- 
fu.,  health-happy  wife  was  not,  perhaps,  so  good  for  you,  as  a 
minister  of  Christ's  gospel,  as  to  have  the  poor  feeble  creature 
tvhose  infirmities  keep  you  anxious  and  ^^  the  top  of  the  wave. 

Saturday  afternoon  the  Professor  took  me  off  strawberrying 
again.     Can  you  believe  that  till  this  June  I  never  went  straw- 


214  '^^^^'    ^^^^^^   ^^    ^^^^-    TREXTTSS. 

berrying  in  my  life  ?  I  don't  eat  them,  so  the  fun  is  in  the  pick- 
ing. Do  you  realise  how  kind  the  Professor  is  to  me  ?  I  am 
afraid  I  don't.  He  works  very  hard,  too  hard,  I  think  ;  but  per- 
haps he  does  it  as  a  refuge  from  his  loneliness.  His  heart  seems 
still  full  of  tenderness  toward  Louisa.  Yesterday  he  took  me 
aside  and  told  me,  with  much  emotion,  that  he  dreamed  the 
night  before  that  she  floated  towards  him  with  a  leaf  in  her 
hand,  on  which  she  wrote  the  words  "Sabbath  peacefulness.*' 
love  him  much,  but  am  afraid  of  him,  as  I  am  of  all  men — 
even  of  you  ;  you  need  not  laugh,  I  am. 

To  Mrs.  Smith  she  writes  from  Rockaway,  July  24th : 

We  were  glad  to  hear  that  you  were  safely  settled  at  Prout's 
Neck,  far  from  riots,  if  not  from  rumors  thereof.  We  have  as 
convenient  and  roomy  and  closetty  a  cottage  as  possible.  We 
are  within  three  minutes  or  so  of  the  beach,  and  go  back  and 
forth,  bathe,  dig  sand,  and  stare  at  the  ocean  according  to  our 
various  ages  and  tastes.  I  really  do  not  know  how  else  we 
spend  our  time.  I  sew  a  little,  and  am  going  to  sew  more  when 
my  machine  comes  ;  read  a  little,  doze  a  little,  and  eat  a  good 
deal.  The  butcher  calls  every  morning,  and  so  does  the  baker 
with  excellent  bread  ;  twice  a  week  clams  call  at  thirty  cents 
the  hundred  ;  we  get  milk,  butter,  and  eggs  without  much 
trouble  ;  and  ice  and  various  vegetables  without  any,  as  Mrs. 
Bull  sends  them  to  us  every  day,  with  sprinklings  of  fruit, 
pitchers  of  cream,  herring  and  whatever  is  going.  We  either 
sit  on  the  beach  looking  and  listening  to  the  waves,  every  even- 
ing, or  we  run  in  to  Mrs.  Bull's  ;  or  gather  about  our  parlor- 
table  reading.  By  ten  we  are  all  off  to  bed.  George  does 
nothing  but  race  back  and  forth  to  New  York  on  Seminary 
business  ;  he  has  gone  now.  I  went  with  him  the  other  day. 
The  city  looks  pinched  and  wo-begone.  We  were  caught  in 
that  tornado  and  nearly  pulled  to  pieces. 

'2']th. — You  will  be  sorry  to  hear  that  our  last  summer's 
siege  with  dysentery  bids  fair  to  be  repeated.  Yesterday, 
when  the  disease  declared  itself,  I  must  own  that  for  a  few 
hours  I  felt  about  heart-broken.  My  own  strength  is  next  to 
nothing,  and  how  to  face  such  a  calamity  I  knew  not.  Ah,  how 
much  easier  it  is  to  pray  daily,  "Oh,  Jesus  Christus,  wachs  in 


THE   STRUGGLE   WITH    ILL-HEALTH.  21  5 

mir  !  "  than  to  consent  to,  yea  rejoice  in,  the  terms  of  the  grant ! 
Well,  George  went  for  the  doctor.  His  quarters  at  this  season 
are  right  opposite  ;  he  is  a  German  and  brother  of  the  author 
Auerbach.  We  brought  G.'s  cot  into  our  room  and  George 
and  I  took  care  of  him  till  three  o'clock,  when  for  the  first  time 
since  we  had  children,  I  gave  out  and  left  the  poor  man  to  get 
along  as  nurse  as  he  best  could.  I  can  tell  you  it  comes  hard 
on  one's  pride  to  resign  one's  office  to  a  half-sick  husband.  I 
think  I  have  let  the  boys  play  too  hard  in  the  sun.  I  long  to 
have  you  see  this  pretty  cottage  and  this  beach. 

^ug.  Tyd. — The  children  are  out  of  the  doctor's  hands  and  I 
do  about  nothing  at  all.  I  hope  you  are  as  lazy  as  I  am.  To- 
day I  bathed,  read  the  paper  and  finished  John  Halifax.  I  wish 
I  could  write  such  a  book  ! 

To  Miss  Gilman  she  writes,  August  loth  : 

We  have  the  nicest  of  cottages,  near  the  sea.  I  often  think 
of  3^ou  as  I  sit  watching  the  waves  rush  in  and  the  bathers  rush- 
ing out.  I  have  not  yet  thanked  you  for  the  hymns  you  sent 
me.  The  traveller's  hymn  sounds  like  George  Withers.  Mr.  P. 
borrowed  a  volume  of  his  poems  which  delights  us  both.  I  am 
glad  you  are  asking  your  mother  questions  about  your  father. 
I  am  amazed  at  myself  for  not  asking  my  dear  mother  many 
a  score  about  my  father,  which  no  human  being  can  answer 
now.  I  do  not  like  to  think  of  you  all  leaving  New  York. 
Few  families  would  be  so  missed  and  mourned. 

I  can  sympathise  with  you  in  regard  to  your  present  Sunday 
"privileges."  We  have  a  long  walk  in  glaring  sunshine,  sit  on 
bare  boards,  live  through  the  whole  (or  nearly  the  whole) 
Prayer-book,  and  then  listen,  if  we  can,  to  a  sermon  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour  long,  its  length  not  being  its  chief  fault.  1 
am  utterly  unable  to  bear  such  fatigue,  and  spend  my  time 
chiefly  at  home,  with  some  hope  of  more  profit,  at  any  rate. 
How  true  it  is  that  our  Master's  best  treasures  are  kept  in 
earthen  vessels  !  Humanly  speaking,  we  should  declare  it  to 
i>e  for  His  glory  to  commit  the  preaching  of  His  gospel  to  the 
best  and  wisest  hands.  But  His  ways  are  not  as  our  ways. 
...  I  feel  such  a  longing,  when  Sunday  comes,  to  spend  it 
with  good  people,  under  the  guidance  of  a  heaven-taught  man. 
A  minister  has  such  wonderful  opportunity  for  doing  good  !    It 


2l6  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

seems  dreadful  to  see  the  opportunity  more  than  wasted.  The 
truth  is,  we  all  need,  ministers  and  all,  a  closer  walk  with  God. 
If  a  man  comes  down  straight  from  the  mount  to  speak  tc 
those  who  have  just  come  from  the  same  place,  he  must  be  in 
a  state  to  edify  and  they  to  be  edified. 

From  New  York  she  writes  to  Miss  Shipman,  October 
24th  : 

Your  letter  came  just  as  we  started  for  Poughkeepsie.  The 
Synod  met  there  and  I  was  invited  to  accompany  George,  and, 
quite  contrary  to  my  usual  habits,  I  went.  We  had  a  nice  time. 
I  feel  that  you  are  in  the  best  place  in  the  world.  Next  to  dy- 
ing and  going  home  one's  self,  it  must  be  sweet  to  accompany 
a  Christian  friend  down  to  the  very  banks  of  the  river.  Isn' 
it  strange  that  after  such  experiences  we  can  ever  again  have  a 
worldly  thought,  or  ever  lose  the  sense  of  the  reality  of  divine 
tilings  !  But  we  are  like  little  children — ever  learning  and  ever 
forgetting.  Still,  it  is  well  to  be  learning,  and  I  envy  you  your 
frequent  visits  to  the  house  of  mourning.  You  will  miss  your 
dear  friend  very  much.  I  know  how  you  love  her.  How  many 
beloved  ones  you  have  already  lost  for  a  season  !  .  .  .  ,  Don't 
set  me  to  making  brackets.  I  am  as  worldly  now  as  I  can  be, 
and  my  head  full  of  work  on  all  sorts  of  things.  I  made  two 
cornucopias  of  your  pattern  and  filled  them  with  grasses  and 
autumn  leaves,  and  they  were  magnificent.  I  got  very  large 
grasses  in  the  Rockaway  marshes.  The  children  are  all  wel 
and  as  gay  as  larks. 

Early  in  November  the  corner-stone  of  the  Church  of  the 
Covenant  was  laid.  She  wrote  the  following  hymn  for  the 
occasion : 

A  temple,  Lord,  we  raise ; 
Let  all  its  walls  be  praise 

To  Thee  alone. 
Draw  nigh,  O  Christ,  we  pray 
To  lead  us  on  our  way, 
And  be  Thou,  now  and  aye. 
Our  corner-stone. 

hi  humble  faith  arrayed. 
We  these  foundations  laid 
In  war's  dark  day. 


THE    STRUGGLE   WITH    TI,L-IIEAETH.  217 

Oppression's  reign  o'erthrown, 
Sweet  peace  once  more  our  own. 
Do  Thou  the  topmost  stone 
Securely  lay. 

And  when  each  earth-built  wall 
Crumbling  to  dust  shall  fall. 

Our  work  still  own. 
Be  to  each  faithful  heart 
That  here  hath  wrought  its  part. 
What  in  Thy  Church  Thou  art — 

The  Corner-stone. 


III. 


Happiness  in  her  Children.     The  Summer  of  1864.     Letters  from  Hunter.     Affliction 

among  Friends. 

In  the  early  part  of  1864  she  was  more  than  usually  af- 
flicted with  neuralgic  troubles  and  that  "  horrid  calamity,"  as 
she  calls  it,  sleeplessness.  ''  I  know  just  how  one  feels  when 
one  can't  eat  or  sleep  or  talk.  I  declare,  a  good  deal  of  the 
time  pulling  words  out  of  me  is  like  pulling  out  teeth." 

Still  (she  writes  to  a  sister-in-law,  Jan.  15th),  we  are  a 
happy  family  in  spite  of  our  ailments.  I  suffer  a  great  deal  and 
cause  anxiety  to  my  husband  by  it,  but  then  I  enjoy  a  great  deal 
and  so  does  he,  and  our  younger  children — to  say  nothing  of  A. — 
are  sources  of  constant  felicity.  Do  not  you  miss  the  hearing 
little  feet  pattering  round  the  house  ?  It  seems  to  me  that  the 
sound  of  my  six  little  feet  is  the  very  pleasantest  sound  in  tlie 
world.  Often  when  I  lie  in  bed  racked  with  pain  and  ex- 
hausted from  want  of  food — for  my  digestive  organs  seem  par- 
alysed when  I  have  neuralgia — hearing  these  little  darlings 
about  the  house  compensates  for  everything,  and  I  am  inex- 
pressibly happy  in  the  mere  sense  of  possession.  I  hate  to 
have  them  grow  up  and  to  lose  my  pets,  or  exchange  them  for  big 
boys  and  girls.    I  suppose  your  boys  are  a  great  help  to  you  and 


2l8  THE    LIFE   OF   MRS.   PRENTISS. 

company  too,  but  I  foel  for  you  that  you  have  not  also  a  couple 

of  girls Poor  Louisa  !     It  is  very  painful  to  think  whal 

she  suffered.  Her  death  was  such  a  shock  to  me,  I  can  hardly 
say  why,  that  I  have  never  been  since  what  I  was  before.  I 
suppose  my  nervous  system  was  so  shattered,  that  so  unex- 
pected a  blow  would  naturally  work  unkindly. 

Early  in  the  following  summer  she  was  distressed  by  the 
sudden  bereavement  of  dear  friends  and  by  the  death  of  her 
nephew,  who  fell  in  one  of  the  battles  of  the  Wilderness.  In 
a  letter  to  Miss  Oilman,  dated  June  i8th,  she  refers  to  this : 

Your  dear  little  flowers  came  in  excellent  condition,  but  at 
a  moment  when  I  could  not  possibly  write  to  tell  you  so.  The 
death  of  Mrs.  R.  H.  broke  my  heart.  I  only  knew  her  by  a 
sort  of  instinct,  but  I  sorrowed  in  her  mother's  sorrow  and  in 
that  of  her  sisters.  Death  is  a  blessed  thing  to  the  one  whom 
it  leads  to  Christ's  kingdom  and  presence,  but  oh,  how  terrible 
for  those  it  leaves  fainting  and  weeping  behind  !  We  expect 
to  go  off  for  the  summer  on  next  Thursday.  We  go  to  Hun- 
ter, N.  Y.,  in  the  region  of  the  Catskills.  My  husband's 
mother  has  been  with  me  during  the  last  six  weeks  and  has 
just  gone  home,  and  I  have  now  to  do  up  the  last  things  in 
a  great  hurry.  You  may  not  know  that  my  A  and  M.  S.,  and 
a  number  of  other  young  people  of  their  age,  joined  our  church 
on  last  Sunday.  1  can  hardly  realise  my  felicity.  I  seem  to 
myself  to  have  a  new  child.  Your  sister  may  have  told  you  of 
the  loss  of  Professor  Hopkins'  son.  He  was  the  first,  grand- 
child in  our  family  and  his  father's  a//.  We  may  never  heai 
what  his  fate  was,  but  the  suspense  has  been  dreadful. 

Her  interest  in  the  national  struggle  was  intense  and  her 
conviction  of  its  Providential  character  unwavering.  To  a 
friend,  who  seemed  to  her  a  little  lukewarm  on  the  subject, 
?]ie  wrote  at  this  time  : 

For  my  part,  I  am  sometimes  afraid  I  shall  die  of  joy  if  we 
iMcr  gain  a  complete  and  final  victory.  You  can  call  this  spunk 
i(  you  choose.  But  my  spunk  has  got  a  backbone  of  its  own 
ivrl  thai  is  deep-seated  conviction,  that  this  is  a  holy  war,  and 


THE    STRUr.GLE    WITH    lEL-TTKATTTI.  2ig 

chat  God  himself  sanctions  it.  He  spares  nothing  precious 
when  He  has  a  work  to  do.  No  life  is  too  valuable  for  Him  to 
cut  short,  when  any  of  His  designs  can  be  furthered  by  doing 
so.  But  I  could  talk  a  month  and  not  have  done,  you  wicked 
111. believer. 

This  morning,  after  breakfast,  I  sallied  out  with  six  children 
To  her  ^^  ^^^  ^  iTiost  charming  walk,  scramble,  climb,  etc. 
Husband,  We  put  on  our  worst  old  duds,  tuck  up  our  skirts 
yunel-j,  knee-high,  and  have  a  regular  good  time  of  it.  If  you 
^^^^'  were  awake  so  early  as  eight  o'clock — I  don't  believe 
you  were  !  you  might  have  seen  us  with  a  good  spy-glass,  and 
it  would  have  made  your  righteous  soul  leap  for  joy  to  see  how 
we  capered  and  laughed,  and  what  strawberries  we  picked,  and 
how  much  of  a  child  A.  turned  into.  They  all  six  "  played 
run  "  till  they  had  counted  twelve  and  then  they  tumbled  down 
and  rolled  in  the  grass,  till  I  w^ondered  what  their  bones  were 
made  of.  I  do  not  see  that  we  could  have  found  a  better  place 
for  the  children.  What  with  the  seven  calves,  the  cows,  the 
sheep,  the  two  pet  lambs,  the  dogs,  hens,  chickens,  horses,  etc., 
they  are  perfectly  happy.  Just  now  they  have  been  to  see  the 
butter  made  and  to  get  a  drink  of  buttermilk.  We  have  lots  of 
strawberries  and  cream,  pot-cheese.  Johnny-cakes,  and  there 
are  ahvays  eggs  and  milk  at  our  service.  From  diplomatic 
motives  I  advise  you  not  to  say  too  much  about  Hunter  to  peo- 
ple asking  questions.  It  would  entirely  spoil  its  only  great 
charm  if  a  rush  of  silly  city  folks  should  scent  it  out.  It  is  real- 
ly a  primitive  place  and  that  you  can  say.  Mr.  Coe  preached  an 
excellent  sermon  on  Sunday  morning. 

I  have  just  been  off,  all  alone,  foraging,  and  have  come  home 

;j^^,^     bringing  my  sheaves  with  me  :  ground   pine  and  red 

Smii/i^    berries,  with  which  I  have  made  a  beautiful  wreath. 

7?//vT,'    ^  have  also  adorned  the  picture  of  Gen.  Grant  with 

^^^^-      festoons  of  evergreens,  conjuring  him  the  while  not  to 

disappoint  our  hopes,  but  to  take  Richmond.     Alas  !  you  may 

know,  by  this  time,  that  he  can't ;  but  in  lack  of  news  since  a 

week  ago,  I  can  but  hope  for  the  best.     I've  taken  a  pew  and 

we  contrive  to  squeeze  into  it  in  this  wise  :  first  a  child,  then  a 

mother,  then  a  child,  then  an  Annie,  then  a  child,  the  little  ones 

beino-   stowed   in    the   cracks   left   between   us   big   one.>.      Mr 


220  THE    IJFK    OF    MRS.    PRENTISS. 

R.,  the  parson,  looking  fit  to  go  straight  into  his  grave,  was 
up  here  to  get  a  wagon  as  he  was  going  for  a  load  of  chips. 
His  wife  was  at  home  sick,  without  any  servant,  had  churned 
three  hours  and  the  butter  wouldn't  come,  and  has  a  pew  full 
of  little  ones.  Oh,  my  poor  sisters  in  the  ministry  !  my  heart 
aches  for  them,  Mr.  R.  gave  us  a  superior  sermon  last  Sunday 
....  I  know  next  to  nothing  about  what  is  going  on  in  the 
world.  But  George  writes  that  he  feels  decidedly  pleased  with 
the  look  of  things.  He  has  been  carrying  on  like  all  possessec 
since  I  left,  having  company  to  breakfast,  lunch,  dinner,  and 
finally  went  and  had  Chi  Alpha  all  himself. 

July  2^th. — We  went  one  day  last  week  on  a  most  delight- 
ful excursion,  twenty-one  of  us  in  all.  Our  drive  was  splendid 
and  the  scenery  sublime  ;  even  we  distinguished  Swiss  travel- 
lers thought  so  !  We  came  to  one  spot  where  ice  always  is 
found,  cut  out  big  pieces,  ate  it,  drank  it,  threw  it  at  each 
other  and  carried  on  with  it  generally.  We  had  our  dinner  on 
the  grass  in  the  woods.  We  brought  home  a  small  cartload  of 
natural  brackets  ;  some  of  them  beautiful. 

August  isf. — You  have  indeed  had  a  "  rich  experience."  '  We 
all  read  your  letter  with  the  deepest  interest  and  feel  that  it 
would  have  been  good  to  be  there.  Your  account  of  Caro 
shows  what  force  of  character  she  possessed,  as  well  as  what 
God's  grace  can  do  and  do  quickly.  This  is  not  the  first  time 
He  has  ripened  a  soul  into  full  Christian  maturity  with  almost 
miraculous  rapidity.  A  veteran  saint  could  not  have  laid  down 
his  armor  and  adjusted  himself  to  meet  death  with  more  calm- 
ness than  did  this  young  disciple.  I  do  not  wonder  her  family 
were  borne,  for  the  time,  above  their  sorrow,  but  alas  !  their 
bitter  pangs  of  anguish  are  yet  to  meet  them.  Her  poor  n:  other ! 
How  much  she  has  suffered  and  has  yet  to  suffer  !  all  the  more 
because  she  bears  it  so  heroically. 

You  must  have  wondered  why  T  did  not  answer  your  letter 
To  Miss  ^"^  y^^^  book,  for  both  of  which  I  thank  you.  Well, 
Emily  s.  it  has  been  such  dry,  warm  weather,  that  I  have  not 
Htoaer,  f^lt  like  writing  ;  besides,  for  nurse  I  have  only  a  little 
'^18^4.^*  ^^^"^^^  gi^^  fourteen  years  old,  who  never  was  out  of 
New  York  before,  and  whom  I  have  been  so  determined 

'  Referring  to  tlic  sudden  death  of  a  young  niece  of  Mrs.  S. 


THE    STRUOGl.l-:    Wrill    ILL-HEALTH.  221 

on  spoiling  that  I  couldn't  bear  to  take  her  off  from  her  play  to 
mend,  patch,  darn,  wash  faces,  necks,  feet,  etc.,  and  unconsci- 
ously did  every  thing  there  was  to  do  for  the  children  and  a 
little  more  besides.  I  like  <he  little  book  very  much.  You 
have  the  greatest  knack,  you  girls,  of  lighting  on  nice  books 
and  nice  hymns.  We  are  right  in  the  midst  of  most  charming 
walks.  Here  is  a  grove  and  there  is  a  brook  ;  here  is  a  creeV, 
almost  a  river  (big  enough  at  any  rate  to  get  on  to  the  map) 
and  there  a  mountain.  As  to  ferns  and  mosses  for  your  poeti- 
cal side,  and  as  for  raspberries  and  blackberries  for  your 
t'other  side,  time  would  fail  me  if  I  should  begin  to  speak  oi 
them.  I  think  a  great  deal  of  you  and  your  sisters  when  ofl 
on  foraging  expeditions,  and  wish  you  were  here  notwithstand- 
ing you  are  mossy  and  ferny  there.  We  have  as  yet  made 
only  one  excursion.  That  was  delightful  and  gave  us  our  first 
true  idea  o:  the  Catskills.  Before  Mr.  P.  came  I  usually  went 
off  on  my  forenoon  walk  alone,  unless  the  children  trooped 
after,  and  came  home  a  miniature  Birnam  wood,  with  all  sorts 
of  things  except  creeping  things  and  flying  fowl. 

I  have  just  finished  reading  to  M.  and  a  little  girl  near  her 
age,  a  little  French  book  you  would  like,  called  "  Augustin." 
I  never  met  with  a  sweeter  picture  of  a  loving  child  anywhere. 
Well,  I  may  as  well  stop  writing.  Remember  me  lovine:lv  to 
all  your  dear  household. 

To  Mrs.  Stearns  she  writes,  Sept.  i6: 

How  mucii  faith  and  patience  we  poor  invalids  do  need  ! 
The  burden  of  life  sits  hard  on  our  weary  shoulders.  I  think 
the  mountain  air  has  agreed  with  our  children  better  than  the 
easide  has  done,  but  George  craves  the  ocean  and  the  bathing. 
He  spent  this  forenoon,  as  he  has  a  good  many  others,  in  climb- 
ing the  side  of  the  mountain  for  exercise,  views,  and  blackber- 
ries I  go  with  him  sometimes.  We  had  a  few  days'  visit  from 
Prof.  Hopkins.  He  has  heard  confirmation  of  the  rumors  of 
poor  Eddy's  death  and  burial.  He  means  to  go  to  Ashland  as 
soon  as  the  state  .)f  the  country  makes  it  practicable,  but 
has  little  hope  of  identifying  E.'s  remains.  It  is  a  great  sor- 
row to  him  to  lose  all  he  had  in  this  horrible  way,  but  he  bears 
it  with  wunderful  faith  and  patience,  and  says  he  never  prayed 


222  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

for  his  son's  life  after  he  went  into  action.  Some  letters 
received  by  him,  give  a  pleasant  idea  of  the  Christian  stand  E. 

took  after  entering  the  army.     I  believe  this  is  Lizzie  P 's 

wedding  day.  There  is  a  beautiful  rainbow  smiling  on  it  from 
our  mountain  home,  and  I  hope  a  real  one  is  glorifying  hers. 

Oh,  I  wish  you  were  here  on  this  glorious  day  !  The  foliage 
has  begun  to  turn  a  little,  and  the  mountains  are  in 
Ci/man,  a  State  bordering  on  perfection.  It  is  wicked  for  me 
Sei)TZ'  ^^  ^^^y  in-doors  even  to  write  this,  but  it  seems  as  if  a 
letter  from  here  would  carry  with  it  a  savor  of  moun- 
tain air,  and  must  do  you  more  good  than  one  from  the  city 
could.  I  wish  I  had  thought  sooner  to  ask  you  if  you  would 
like  some  of  our  mosses.  I  thought  I  had  seen  mosses  before 
but  found  I  had  not.  I  w411  enclose  some  dried  specimens,  j 
thought,  while  I  was  in  the  woods  this  morning,  that  I  never 
had  thanked  God  half  enough  for  making  these  lovely  things 
and  giving  us  tastes  wherewith  to  enjoy  them. 

You  ask  if  I  have  spilled  ink  all  down  the  side  of  this  white 
house.  Yes,  I  have,  wo  be  unto  me.  I  was  sick  abed  and  got 
up  to  write  to  Mr.  P.,  not  wanting  him  to  know  I  was  sick,  and 
one  of  the  children  came  in  and  I  snatched  him  up  in  my  lap 
to  hug  and  kiss  a  little,  and  he,  of  course,  hit  the  pen  and 
upset  the  inkstand  and  burst  out  crying  at  my  dismay.  Then 
might  have  been  seen  a  headachy  woman  catching  the  apo- 
plexy by  leaning  out  of  the  window  and  scrubbing  paint,  sacri- 
ficing all  her  nice  rags  in  the  process,  and   dreadfully  mortified 

into    the    bargain Yesterday   we   were   all   caught  in   a 

pouring  rain  when  several  miles  from  home  on  the  side  of  the 
mountain,  blackberry ing.  We  each  took  a  child  and  came 
rolling  and  tearing  down  through  the  bushes  and  over  stones, 
II. 's  little  legs  flying  as  little  legs  rarely  fly.  We  nearly  died 
with  laughing,  and  if  1  only  knew  how  to  draw,  I  could  make 
you  laugh  by  giving  you  a  picture  of  the  scene.  You  will  judge 
^rom  this  that  we  are  all  great  walkers  ;  so  we  are.  I  take  the 
children  almost  everywhere,  and  they  walk  miles  every  day„ 
VV^ell,  I  will  go  now  and  get  you  some  scraps  of  pressed  mosses 


THE   STRUGGLE    WITH    H.L-HEALTH.  223 


IV. 

["he  Death  of  President  Lincoln.  Dedication  of  the  Church  of  the  Covenant,  (irow- 
ing  Insomnia.  Resolves  to  try  the  Water-cure.  Its  beneficial  Effects.  Summer  at 
Newburgh.  Reminiscence  of  an  Excursion  to  Paltz  Point.  Death  of  her  HusbamJ  » 
Mother.     Funeral  of  her  Nephew,  Edward  Payson  Hopkins. 

Two  events  rendered  the  month  of  April,  1865,  especially 
memorable  to  Mrs.  Prentiss.  One  was  the  assassination  of 
President  Lincoln  on  the  evening  of  Good  Friday.  She  had 
been  very  ill,  and  her  husband,  on  learning  the  dreadful  news 
from  the  morning  paper,  thought  it  advisable  to  keep  it  from  her 
for  a  while;  but  one  of  the  children,  going  into  her  chamber, 
burst  into  tears  and  thus  betrayed  the  secret.  Her  state  of  nerv- 
ous prostration  and  her  profound,  affectionate  admiration  for 
Mr.  Lincoln,  made  the  blow  the  most  stunning  by  far  she  ever 
received  from  any  public  calamity.  It  was  such,  no  doubt,  to 
tens  of  thousands ;  indeed,  to  the  American  people.  No 
Easter  morning  ever  before  dawned  upon  them  amid  such  a 
cloud  of  horror,  or  found  them  so  bowed  down  with  grief. 
The  younger  generation  can  hardly  conceive  of  the  depth  and 
intensity,  or  the  strange,  unnatural  character,  of  the  impression 
made  upon  the  minds  of  old  and  young  alike,  by  this  most 
foul  murder.' 

The  other  event  was  of  a  very  different  character  and  filled 
her  with  great  joy.  It  was  the  dedication,  on  the  last  Sunday 
in  April,  of  the  new  church  edifice,  whose  growth  she  had 
watched  with  so  much  interest. 

In  the  spring  of  1865  she  was  induced,  by  the  entreaty  of 
friends  who  had  themselves  tested  his  skill,  to  consult  Dr. 
Schieferdecker,  a  noted  hydropathist,  and  later  to  place  her- 
self under  his  care.  In  a  letter  to  her  cousin,  Miss  Shipn\an, 
she  writes :  *'  I  want  to  tell  you,  but  do  not  want  you  to  men- 
tion it  to  anyone,  that  I  have  been  to  see  Dr.  Schieferdecker 
to  know  what  he  thought  of  my  case.  He  says  that  I  might 
go  on  dieting  to  the  end  of  my  days  and  not  get  well,  but 
that   his  system  could  and  would  cure  me,  only  it  would  take 

'  This  was  written  before  the  assajssinatiun  of  President  (iarfieid. 


224  Tlih    LIFE    OF    MRS.    PRENTISS. 

a  lon^^  time.  I  have  not  decided  whether  to  try  his  process 
but  have  no  doubt  he  understands  my  disease."  Dr.  Schiefer- 
decker  had  been  a  pupil  and  was  an  enthusiastic  disciple  of 
Priesnitz.  He  had  unbounded  faith  in  the  healing  proper- 
ties of  water.  He  w^LS  very  impulsive,  opinionated,  self-con- 
fident, and  accustomed  to  speak  contemptuously  of  the  old 
medical  science  and  those  who  practised  it.  But  for  all  that, 
he  possessed  a  remarkable  sagacity  in  the  diagnosis  and  treat- 
ment of  chronic  disease.  Mrs.  Prentiss  went  through  the 
''  cure  "  with  indomitable  patience  and  pluck,  and  was  reward- 
ed by  the  most  beneficial  results.  Her  sleeplessness  had 
become  too  deep-rooted  to  be  overcome,  but  it  was  greatly 
mitigated  and  her  general  condition  vastly  improved.  She 
never  ceased  to  feel  very  grateful  to  Dr.  Schieferdecker  for 
the  relief  he  had  afforded  her,  and  for  teaching  her  how  to 
manage  herself;  for  after  passing  from  under  his  care,  she  still 
continued  to  follow  his  directions.  "  No  tongue  can  tell  how 
much  I  am  indebted  to  him,"  she  wrote  in  1869.  "  I  am  like 
a  ship  that  after  poking  along  twenty  years  with  a  heavy  load 
on  board,  at  last  gets  into  port,  unloads,  and  springs  to  the 
surface." 

It  is  said  to  be  an  ill  wind  that  blows  nobody  good,  and  as 
I  am  still  idling  about,  doing  absolutely  nothing  but 

Tu  Miss  E.  .  ...  1     •        X    1  1    •  1-1 

S.  Cihnan,  reccive  visits  from  neuralgia,  I  have  leisure  to  think 

/S^23iS65.^^  P^^^  ^'^^'^^ •     I  wrote  to  ask   her  if  there  was 

anything  she  wanted  and  could  not  get  in  her  region  ; 
yesterday  I  received  her  letter,  in  which  she  mentions  a  book, 
but  says  "anything  that  is  useful  for  body  or  mind"  would  be 
gratefully  received.  Now  I  got  the  impression  from  that  ar- 
ticle in  the  Independent,  that  she  could  take  next  to  no  nourish- 
ment. Do  you  know  what  she  docs  take,  and  can  you  suggest, 
from  what  you  know,  anything  she  would  like  ?  What's  the 
use  of  my  being  sick,  if  it  isn't  for  her  sake  or  that  of  some 
other  suffering  soul  ?  I  want,  very  much,  to  get  some  things 
together  and  send  her  ;  nobody  knows  who  hasn't  experienced 
it,  how  delightfully  such  things  break  in  on  the  monotony  of 
a  sick-room.  Just  yet  I  am  not  strong  enough  to  do  anything ; 
my  hands  tremble  so  that  I  can  hardly  use  even  a  pen  ;  yet  you 


THE    STRUGGLE    Wl'iU    ILL-liEAL  1 11.  22$ 

need  not  think  I  am  much  amiss,  for  I  go  out  every  pleasant 
day,  to  ride,  and  some  days  can  take  quite  a  walk.  The  trouble 
is  that  when  the  pain  returns,  as  it  does  several  times  a  day,  it 
knocks  my  strength  out  of  me.  I  hope  when  all  parts  of  my 
f  I  Time  have  been  visited  by  this  erratic  sprite,  it  may  find  it 
wortl;  while  to  beat  a  retreat.  Only  to  think,  we  are  going  to 
move  to  No.  70  East  Twenty-seventh  street,  and  you  have  all 
been  and  gone  away  !  The  rent  is  enormous,  $1,000  having  been 
just  added  to  an  already  high  price.  Our  people  have  taken 
that  matter  in  hand  and  no  burden  of  it  will  come  on  us.  I 
received  your  letter  and  am  much  obliged  to  you  for  writing 

to   Miss  ,  for  me  ;  the  reason  I  did   not  do  it  was,  that  it 

seemed  like  hurrying  her  up  to  thank  me  for  the  little  drop  of 
comfort  I  sent  her.  Dear  me  !  it's  hard  to  be  sick  when  people 
send  you  quails  and  jellies,  and  fresh  eggs,  and  all  such  things 
— but  to  be  sick  and  suffer  for  necessaries  must  be  terrible. 

I  thank  you  for  the  details  of  Miss 's  case,  as  I  wished 

to  describe  them  to  some  friends.  I  sent  her  ten  dol- 
7r/^^*?ri!'lars  yesterday  for  two  of  my  friends.  I  also  sent  off 
March  9,  ^  ^QQ^  ^y  express,  for  the  contents  of  which  I  had  help. 
The  things  were  such  as  I  had  persuaded  her  to  men- 
tion ;  a  new  kind  of  farina,  figs,  two  portfolios  (of  course  she 
didn't  ask  for  two,  but  I  had  one  I  thought  she  would,  perhaps, 
like  better  than  the  one  I  bought),  a  few  crackers,  and  several 
books.  Mr.  P.  added  one  of  those  beautiful  large-print  editions 
of  the  Psalms  which  will,  I  think,  be  a  comfort  to  her.  I  shall 
also  send  Adelaide  Newton  by-and-by  ;  I  thought  she  had  her 
hands  full  of  reading  for  the  present,  and  the  great  thing  is 
not  to  heap  comforts  on  her  all  at  once  and  then  leave  her  to 
her  fate,  but  keep  up  a  stream  of  such  little  alleviations  as  can 
be  provided.  She  said,  she  had  poor  accommodations  for  writ- 
ing, so  I  greatly  enjoyed  fitting  up  the  portfolio  which  was 
none  the  worse  for  wear,  with  paper  and  envelopes,  a  pencil 
with  rubber  at  the  end,  a  cunning  little  knife,  some  stamps,  for 
which  there  was  a  small  box,  a  few  pens,  etc.  I  know  it  will 
please  you  to  hear  of  this,  and  as  the  money  was  furnisht^d  me 
for  the  purpose,  you  need  not  set  it  down  to  my  credit. 

I  meant  to  go  to  see  your  sister,  but  my  head  is  still  in  such 
a  weak  state  that  though  I  go  to  walk  nearly  every  day,  I  can 
^5 


226  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

not  make  calls.  It  is  five  weeks  since  I  went  to  church,  for  the 
same  reason.  It  is  a  part  of  God's  discipline  with  me  to  keep 
me  shut  up  a  good  deal  more  than  the  old  Adam  in  me  fancies  ; 
but  His  way  is  absolutely  perfect,  and  I  hope  I  wouldn't  change 
it  in  any  particular,  if  I  could.  Have  you  Pusey's  tract,  "  Do 
all  to  the  Lord  Jesus"?  If  not,  I  must  send  it  to  you.  It 
seems  as  if  I  had  a  lot  of  things  I  wanted  to  say,  but  after 
writing  a  little  my  hands  and  arms  begin  to  tremble  so  that  I 
can  hardly  write  plainly.  You  never  saw  such  a  lazy  life  as  I 
lead  now-a-days  ;  I  can't  do  any  thing.  I  advise  you  to  do 
what  you  have  to  do  for  Christ  noiu  j  by  the  time  you  are  as 
old  as  I  am  perhaps  you  will  have  the  will  and  not  the  power. 
Well,  good-bye  till  next  time. 

The  summer  of  this  year  was  passed  at  Newburgh  in  com 
pany  with  the  Misses  Butler — now  Mrs.  Kirkbride,  of  Phiki- 
delphia,  and  Mrs.  Booth,  of  Liverpool — and  the  families  of 
Mr.  William  Allen  Butler,  Mr.  B.  F.  Butler,  and  Mr.  John  P. 
Crosby,  to  all  of  whom  Mrs.  Prentiss  was  strongly  attached. 
The  late  Mr.  Daniel  Lord,  the  eminent  lawyer,  with  a  portion 
of  his  family,  had  also  a  cottage  near  by  and  was  full  of  hos- 
pitable kindness.  In  spite  of  the  exacting  hydropathic  treat- 
ment,  she  found  constant  refreshment  and  delight  in  the 
society  of  so  many  dear  friends.  "The  only  thing  I  have  to 
complain  of "  she  wrote,  ''  is  ever}^body  being  too  good  to  me. 
How  different  it  is  being  among  friends  to  being  among 
strangers !  " 

In  a  letter  to  her  husband,  dated  New  York,  Sept.  15,  1879, 
Mr.  William  Allen  Butler  gives  the  following  reminiscence  of 
an  excursion  to  Paltz  Point  and  an  evening  at  Newburgh  : 

From  the  date  you  give  in  your  note  (to  which  I  have  just  recurred)  of 
our  trip  to  Paltz  Point,  it  seems  that  in  writing  you  to-day  I  have  unwit- 
tingly fallen  on  the  anniversary  of  that  pleasant  excursion.  Without  this 
reminder  I  could  not  have  told  the  day  or  the  year,  but  of  the  excursion  it- 
self I  have  always  had  a  vivid  and  delightful  recollection  ;  and,  if  I  am  not 
mistaken,  Mrs.  Prentiss  enjoyed  it  as  fully  as  any  one  of  the  merry  party. 
It  was  only  on  that  jaunt  and  in  our  summer  home  at  Newburgh  that  I  had 
the  opportunity  of  knowing  her  readiness  to  enter  into  that  kind  of  enjoy- 
ment, which  depends  upon  the  co-operation  of  every  member  of  a  circle  foi 
the  entertainment  of  all.    The  elements  of  our  j^roup  were  well  commingled. 


THE    STRUGGLE    WITH    FLE-HEALTH. 


227 


and  the  bright  things  evoked  by  their  contact  and  friction  were  neither  few 
nor  far  between.  The  game  to  which  you  allude  of  "  Inspiration  "  or 
"  Rhapsody  "  was  a  favorite.  The  evening  at  Paltz  Point  called  out  some 
clever  sallies,  of  which  I  have  no  record  or  special  recollection  ;  but  I  know 
that  then,  as  aEvays,  Mrs.  Prentiss  seemed  to  have  at  her  pencil's  point  for 
instant  use  the  wit  and  fancy  so  charmingly  exhibited  in  her  writings.  She 
published  somewhere  an  account  of  one  of  our  inspired  or  rhapsodical  even 
ings,  but  greatly  to  my  regret  failed  to  include  in  it  her  own  contribution  wb.ich 
was  the  best  of  all.  I  distinctly  remember  the  time  and  scene — the  September 
evening — the  big,  square  sitting-room  of  the  old  Seminary  building  in  which 
you  boarded — the  bright  faces  whose  radiance  made  up  in  part  for  the  limita- 
tions of  artificial  light — the  puzzled  air  which  every  one  took  on  when  presented 
with  the  list  of  unmanageable  words,  to  be  reproduced  in  their  consecutive  or- 
der in  prose  or  verse  composition  within  the  next  quarter  or  half  hour — the 
stillness  which  supervened  while  the  enforced  "  pleasures  "  of  "  poetic  pains  " 
or  prose  agony  were  being  undergone — the  sense  of  relief  which  supplemented 
the  completion  of  the  batch  of  extempore  effusions — and  the  fun  which  their 
reading  provoked.  Mrs.  Prentiss  had  contrived  out  of  the  odd  and  incohe- 
rent jumble  of  words  a  choice  bit  of  poetic  humor  and  pathos,  which  I  nevei 
(|uite  forgave  her  for  omitting  in  the  publication  of  the  nonsense  written  by 
other  hands.  These  trifles  as  they  seemed  at  the  time,  and  as  in  fact  they 
were,  become  less  insignificant  in  the  retrospect,  as  we  associate  them  with 
the  whole  character  and  being  we  instinctively  love  to  place  at  the  farthest 
remove  from  gloom  or  sadness,  and  as  they  rediscover  to  us  in  the  distance 
the  native  vivacity  and  grace  of  which  they  were  the  chance  expression. 
Since  that  summer  of  1865,  having  lived  away  from  New  York,  I  saw  little 
of  Mrs.  Prentiss,  but  I  have  a  special  remembrance  of  one  little  visit  you 
made  at  our  home  in  Yonkers  which  she  seemed  very  much  to  enjoy —say- 
ing of  the  reunion  which  made  it  so  pleasant  to  the  members  of  our  family 
and  all  who  happened  to  be  together  at  the  time,  that  it  was  "like 
heaven."  ' 

During  the  summer  of  1865  the  sympathies  of  Mrs.  Treii- 
tiss  were  much  wrought  upon  by  the  sickness  and  death  of  her 
husband's  mother,  who  entered  into  rest  on  the  9th  of  August, 
in  the  eighty-fourth  year  of  her  age.  On  the  12th  of  the 
[>revious  January,  she  with  the  whole  family  had  gone  to  New- 
ark to  celebrate  the  eighty-third  birthday  of  this  aged  saint. 
Had  they  known  it  was  to  be  the  last,  they  could  have  wished 
nothing  changed.  It  was  a  perfect  winter's  day,  and  the  scene 
in  the  old  parsonage  was  perfect  too.     There,  surrounded   by 

'  The  "  Rhapsody,"  referred  to  by  Mr.  Butler  was  presci-ved  by  a  young  lady  of  iht 
party,  and  will  be  found  in  appendix  E,  p.  535. 


228  THE    LIl'K   OF    MRS.  PRENTISS. 

children  and  children's  children,  sat  the  venerable  grand, 
mother  with  a  benignant  smile  upon  her  face  and  the  peace 
of  God  in  her  heart.  As  she  received  in  birthday  gifts  and 
kisses  and  congratulations  their  loving  homage,  the  measure 
of  her  joy  v/as  full,  and  she  seemed  ready  to  say  her  Nunc 
diiiuitis.  She  belonged  to  the  number  of  those  holy  women 
of  the  old  time  who  trusted  in  God  and  adorned  themselves 
with  the  ornament  of  a  meek  and  quiet  spirit,  and  whose 
children  to  the  latest  generation  rise  up  and  call  them  blessed. 

In  the  course  of  this  year  her  sympathies  were  also  deeply 
touched  by  repeated  visits  from  her  brother-in-law.  Professor 
Hopkins,  on  his  way  to  and  from  Virginia.  Allusion  has  been 
made  already  to  the  death  of  her  nephew.  Lieutenant  Edward 
Payson  Hopkins.  He  was  killed  in  battle  while  gallantly 
leading  a  cavalry  charge  at  Ashland,  in  Virginia,  on  the  nth  of 
May,  1864.  In  June  of  the  following  year  his  father  went  to 
Ashland  with  the  hope  of  recovering  the  body.  Five  com- 
rades had  fallen  with  Edward,  and  the  negroes  had  buried 
them  without  coffins,  side  by  side,  in  two  trenches  in  a  deso- 
late swampy  field  and  under  a  very  shallow  covering  of  earth. 
The  place  was  readily  discovered,  but  it  w^as  found  impossible 
to  identify  the  body.  The  disappointed  father,  almost  broken- 
hearted, turned  his  weary  steps  homeward.  When  he  reached 
Williamstown  his  friends  said,  ''  He  has  grown  ten  years  older 
since  he  went  away." 

Several  months  later  he  learned  that  there  were  means  of 
identification  which  could  not  fail,  even  if  the  body  had  al- 
ready turned  to  dust.  Accordingly  he  again  visited  Ashland, 
attended  this  time  by  soldiers,  a  surgeon,  and  Government 
officials.  His  search  proved  successful,  and,  to  his  joy,  not 
only  was  the  body  identified,  but,  owing  to  the  swampy  nat- 
jire  of  the  ground,  it  was  found  to  be  in  an  almost  complete 
state  of  preservation.  There  was  something  wonderfully  im- 
pressive ii.  the  grave  aspect  and  calm,  gentle  tone  of  the  ven- 
erable man,  as  with  his  precious  charge  he  passed  through 
New  York  on  his  way  home.  In  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Prentiss, 
dated  January  2d,  1866,  he  himself  tells  the  story  of  the  re-in- 
terment at  Williamstown  : 


THE   STRUGGI.E   WITH    ILL-HEALTH. 


229 


....  After  stojjping  a  minute  at  my  door  the  wagon  passed  at  once  tc 
uh^  cemetery,  and  the  remains  were  deposited  in  the  tomb.  This  was  on 
Thursday.  After  consulting  with  my  brother  and  his  son  (the  chaplain)  1 
determined  to  wait  till  the  Sabbath  before  the  interment.  Accordingly,  at 
3  o'clock — after  the  afternoon  service — the  remains  of  my  dear  boy  were 
placed  beside  those  of  his  mother.  The  services  were  simple,  but  solemn 
in  a  high  degree.  They  were  opened  by  an  address  from  Harry.  Prayer 
followed  by  Rev.  Mr.  Noble,  now  supplying  the  desk  here.  He  prefaced 
his  prayer  by  saying  that  he  never  saw  Edward  but  once,  when  he  preached 
at  Williamstown  at  a  communion  and  saw  him  sitting  beside  me  and  par- 
taking with  me.  Singing  then  followed  by  the  choir  of  which  Eddy  was 
for  a  long  time  a  member.  The  words  were  those  striking  lines  of  Mont- 
gomery' : 

Go  to  the  grave  in  all  thy  glorious  prime,  etc. 

After  which  the  co'^m  was  lowered  to  its  place  by  young  men  who  were 
friends  of  Edward  in  his  earlier  years. 

The  state  of  the  elements  was  exceedingly  favorable  to  the  holding  of 
such  an  exercise  in  the  open  air  at  a  season  generally  so  inclement.  The 
night  before  there  was  ever}'  appearance  of  a  heavy  N.  E.  storm.  But 
Sabbath  morning  it  was  calm.  As  I  went  to  church  I  noticed  that  the  sun 
rested  on  the  Vermont  mountains  just  north  of  us,  though  with  a  mellowed 
light  as  if  a  veil  had  been  thrown  over  them.  In  the  after  part  of  the  day 
the  open  sky  had  spread  southward — so  that  the  interment  took  place  when 
the  air  was  as  mild  and  serene  as  spring,  just  as  the  last  sun  of  the  year 
was  sinking  towards  the  mountains.     Almost  the  entire  congregation  were 

present Thus,  dear  sister,  I  have  given  you  a  brief  account  of  the 

solemn  but  peaceful  winding  up  of  what  has  been  to  me  a  sharp  and  long 
trial,  and  I  know  to  yourself  and  family  also.  In  eternity  we  shall  more 
clearly  read  the  lesson  which  even  now,  in  the  light  of  opening  scenes,  w€ 
are  beginning  to  interpret. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE   pastor's    wife   AND   DAUGHTER    OF   CONSOLATION. 

1866-1868. 

I. 

Happiness  as  a  Pastor's  Wife.  Visits  to  Newport  and  WiIliamsto^vn.  Letters.  Th€ 
great  Portland  Fire.  First  Summer  at  Dorset.  The  new  Parsonage  occupied. 
Second  Summer  at  Dorset.  Little  Lou's  Sayings  and  Doings.  Project  of  a  Cot- 
tage. Letters.  The  Little  Preacher.  Illness  and  Death  of  Mrs.  Edward  Paysoc 
and  of  Little  Francis. 

We  now  enter  upon  the  most  interesting  and  happiest 
period  of  Mrs.  Prentiss's  experience  as  a  pastor's  wife.  The 
congregation  of  the  Church  of  the  Covenant  had  been  slowly 
forming  in  "  troublous  times  "  ;  it  was  composed  of  congenial 
elements,  being  of  one  heart  and  one  mind  ;  some  of  the 
most  cultivated  families  and  family-circles  in  New  York 
belonged  to  it;  and  Mrs.  Prentiss  was  much  beloved  in 
them  all.  What  a  help-meet  she  was  to  her  husband  and 
with  what  zeal  and  delight  she  fulfilled  her  ofifice,  especially 
that  of  a  daughter  of  consolation,  among  his  people,  will  soon 
appear. 

How  ignorant  we  often  are,  at  the  time,  of  the  turning- 
points  in  our  life  !  We  inquire  for  a  summer  boarding-place 
and  decide  upon  it  without  any  thought  beyond  the  few 
weeks  for  which  it  was  engaged  ;  and  yet,  perhaps,  our  whole 
earthly  future  or  that  of  those  most  dear  to  us,  is  to  be  vitally 
affected  by  this  seemingly  trifling  decision.  So  it  happened 
to  Mrs.  Prentiss  in  1866.  Early  in  ]\Iay  her  husband  and  his 
brother-in-law.  Dr.  Stearns,  went,  at  a  venture,  to  Dorset,  Vt. 
and  there  secured  rooms  for  their  families  during  the  sum 
(230) 


THE    pastor's   wife.  23 1 

men  But  little  did  either  she,  or  they,  dream  that  Dorset  was 
to  be  henceforth  her  summer  home  and  her  resting-place  in 
death  ! ' 

The  Portland  fire,  to  which  reference  is  made  in  the  fol- 
lowing  letters,  occurred  on  the  4th  of  July,  and  consumed  a 
large  portion  of  the  city. 

Never  in  my  life  did  I  live  through  such  a  spring  and  early 
^   ,,.      summer  as  this  !     As  to  business  and  bustle,  I  mean. 

To  Miss 

Mary  B.  You  must  have  given  me  up  as  a  lost  case  !  But  I 
Dorfei^ylay^^'^Q  thought  of  you  every  day  and   longed  to  hear 

25,  1866.  j^Q^^^  y^^  were  getting  on,  and  whether  you  lived 
throuo-h  that  dreadful  weather.  Annie  went  with  the  children 
to  Williamstown  about  the  middle  of  June  ;  I  nearly  killed 
myself  with  getting  them  ready  to  go  and  could  see  the  flesh 
drop  off  my  bones.  George  and  I  went  to  Newport  on  what 
Mrs.  Bronson  called  our  "bridal  trip,"  and  stayed  eleven  days. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  McCurdy  were  kindness  personified.  We  came 
home  and  preached  on  the  first  Sunday  in  July,  and  then  went 
to  Greenfield  Hill  to  spend  the  Fourth  with  Mrs.  Bronson.' 
That  nearly  finished  me,  and  then  I  went  to  Williamstown  on 
that  hot  Friday  and  was  quite  finished  on  reaching  there,  to 
hear  about  the  fire  in  Portland.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  anything 
so  dreadful  ?  I  did  not  know  for  several  days  but  H.  and  C. 
were  burnt  out  of  house  and  home  ;  most  of  my  other  friends 

>  Dorset  is  situated  in  Bennington  county,  about  sixt}--  miles  from  Troy  and  twenty- 
five  miles  from  Rutland.  Its  eastern  portion  lies  in  a  deep-cut  valley  alonj:  tlie  western 
slope  of  the  Green  Mountain  range,  on  the  line  of  the  Bennington  and  Rutland  rail- 
road. Its  western  part— the  valley  in  which  Mrs.  Prentiss  passed  her  summers— is  sepa- 
rated from  East  Dorset  by  Mt.  Aeolus,  Owl's  Head,  and  a  succession  of  maple<rcsted 
hills,  all  belonging  to  the  Taconic  system  of  rocks,  which  contains  the  rich  marble,  -late, 
and  limestone  quarries  of  Western  Vermont.  In  the  north  this  range  sweeps  round  to- 
ward the  Equinox  range,  enclosing  the  beautiful  and  fertile  upland  region  called  The 
Hollow.  Dorset  belonged  to  the  so-called  New  Hampshire  Grants,  and  was  organised 
into  a  to\s-nship  shortly  before  the  Revolutionary  War.  Its  first  settlers  were  largely 
from  Connecticut  and  Massachusetts.  They  were  a  hardy,  intelligent,  liberty-loving 
race,  and  impressed  upon  the  town  a  moral  and  religious  character,  which  lemains  to  this 
day. 

2  Mrs.  Arthur  Bronson,  of  New  York.  A  life  of  Mrs.  Prentiss  would  scarcely  be  com- 
plete without  a  grateful  mention  of  this  devoted  friend  and  true  Christian  lady.  She  was 
the  centre  of  a  wide  family  circle,  to  all  of  whose  members,  both  young  and  old,  she  was 
greatly  endeared  by  the  beauty  and  excellence  of  her  character.  She  died  shortly  aftei 
Wn.  EVentiss. 


232  THE    TJFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

I  knew  were,   and   can  there  be  any  calamity  like  being  left 

naked,  hungry  and  homeless,  everything  gone  forever 

But  let  no  one  say  a  word  that  has  a  roof  over  his  head.  All 
my  father's  sermons  were  burned,  the  house  where  most  of  ui 
were  born,  his  church,  etc.  Fancy  New  Haven  stripped  of  its 
shade-trees,  and  you  can  form  some  idea  of  the  loss  of  Port- 
land in  that  respect.  Well,  I  might  go  on  talking  forever,  and 
not  have  said  anything.'  The  heat  upset  G.  and  we  have  been 
fighting  off  sickness  for  a  week,  I  getting  wild  with  loss  ot 
sleep.  We  are  enchanted  with  Dorset.  We  are  so  near  the 
woods  and  mountains  that  we  go  every  day  and  spend  hours 
wandering  about  among  them.  If  there  is  any  difference,  I 
think  this  place  even  more  beautiful  than  Williamstown  ;  it 
suits  us  better  as  a  summer  retreat,  from  its  great  seclusion. 
I  am,  that  is  we  are,  mean  enough  to  want  to  keep  it  as  quiet 
and  secluded  as  it  is  now,  by  not  letting  people  know  how  nice 
it  is  ;  a  very  few  fashionably  dressed  people  would  just  spoil 
it  for  us.     So  keep  our  counsel,  you  dear  child. 

A  few  days  later  she  writes  to  Mrs.  Smith,  then  in  Europe : 

On  the  sixth,  a  day  of  fearful  heat,  I  went  to  Williamstown, 
where  I  found  all  the  children  as  well  as  possible,  but  heard 
the  news  of  the  Portland  fire  which  almost  killed  me.  All  my 
father's  manuscripts  are  destroyed  ;  we  always  meant  to  divide 
them  among  us  and  ought  to  have  done  it  long  ago.  I  heard 
of  any  number  of  injudicious  babies  as  taking  the  inopportune 
day  succeeding  the  fire  to  enter  on  the  scene  of  desolation  ; 
all  born  in  tents.  I  am  sorry  my  children  will  never  see 
my  father's  church,  nor  the  house  where  I  was  born  ;  but 
private  griefs  are  nothing  when  compared  with  a  calamity  that 
is  so  appalling  and  that  must  send  many  a  heart  homeless  and 
aching  to  the  grave.  I  spent  two  weeks  at  Williamstown,  when 
George  came  for  me,  and  the  wxather  cooling  off,  we  had  a 
comfortable  journey  here.  We  are  perfectly  delighted  with 
Dorset  ;  the  sweet  seclusion  is  most  soothing,  and  the  house  is 

•  While  supposing  that  her  brothers  had  been  burnt  out  and  had,  perhaps,  lost  every- 
thing, she  wrote  to  her  husband  with  characteristic  generosity:  "If  they  did  not  kill 
themselves  working  at  the  fire,  they  will  kill  themselves  trying  to  get  on  their  feet  again. 
Eveiy  cent  I  have  I  think  should  be  given  them.  My  father's  church  and  everything  a» 
iociated  witli  my  youth,  gone  forever  !     I  can't  think  of  anything  else." 


tup:  pastors  wife.  233 

very  pleasant.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  F.  are  intelligent,  agreeable  peo- 
ple, and  do  all  they  can  to  make  us  comfortable.  The  mount- 
ains are  so  near  that  I  hear  the  crows  cawing  in  the  trees.  We 
are  making  pretty  things  and  pressing  an  unheard-of  quanliL) 
of  ferns.  We  go  to  the  woods  regularly  every  morning  antl 
stay  the  whole  forenoon.  In  the  afternoon  we  rest,  read,  write, 
etc.  ;  sometimes  we  drive  and  always  after  tea  George  walks 
with  me  about  two  miles.  I  hope  the  war  is  not  impeding 
your  movements.  I  suppose  you  will  call  this  a  short  letter, 
but  I  think  it  is  as  long  as  is  good  for  you.  All  my  dear  nine 
pounds  gained  at  Newburgh  have  gone  by  the  board.  Ai/^/zsi 
20th. — I  am  sorry  you  had  such  hot  weather  in  Paris,  but  hope 
it  passed  off  as  our  heat  did.  Dr.  Hamlin's  two  youngest 
daughters  have  been  here,  and  came  to  see  me  ;  they  are  both 
interesting  girls,  and  the  elder  of  the  two  really  brilliant. 
They  had  never  been  here  before,  and  were  carried  away  with 
the  beauties  of  their  mother's  birthplace.  I  wish  you  could 
see  my  room.  Every  pretty  thing  grows  here  and  has  come  to 
cheer  and  beautify  it.  The  woods  are  everywhere,  and  as  for 
the  views,  oh  my  child  !  However,  I  do  not  suppose  anything 
short  of  Mt.  Blanc  will  suit  you  now. 

In  April,  1867,  the  parsonage  on  Thirty-fifth  street  was 
occupied.  It  had  been  built  more  especially  for  her  sake,  and 
was  furnished  by  the  generosity  of  her  friends.  Pier  joy  in 
entering  it  was  completed  by  a  ''  house-warming,"  at  the  close 
of  which  a  passage  of  Scripture  was  read  by  Prof.  Smith, 
"All  hail  the  power  of  Jcsus's  name"  sung,  and  then  the 
blessing  of  Heaven  invoked  upon  the  new  home  by  that  holy 
man  of  God,  Dr.  Thomas  H.  Skinner.  Here  she  passed  the 
next  six  years  of  her  life.  Here  she  wrote  the  larger  portion  .  .f 
"  Stepping  Heavenward."  And  here  the  cup  of  her  domestic 
joy,  and  of  joy  in  her  God  and  Saviour  often  ran  o\  cr.  Here, 
too,  some  of  her  dearest  Christian  friendships  were  formed 
and  enjoyed. 

The  summer  of  1867  was  passed  at  Dorset.  In  less  tlian 
a  month  of  it  she  wrote  one  of  her  best  children's  books,  Lit- 
tle Lous  Sayingis  and  Doings  ;  and  much  of  the  remainder  was 
spent   in   discussing  with   her  husband  the  project  of  building 


234  THE   LIFE   OF    MRS.    PRENTISS. 

a  cottage  of  their  own.     In  a  letter  to  her  cousin,  Miss  Ship- 
man,  dated  Sept.  21,  she  .vrites  : 

We  have  had  our  heads  full  all  summer,  of  building  a  little 
cottage  here.  We  are  having  a  plan  made,  and  have  about 
fixed  on  a  lot.  We  are  rather  tired  of  boarding  ;  George  hates 
It,  and  Dorset  suits  us  as  well,  I  presume,  as  any  village  would. 
It  is  a  lovely  spot,  and  the  people  are  as  intelligent  as  in  other 
parts  of  New  England.  The  Professor  is  disappointed  at  our 
choosing  this  rather  than  Williamstown,  but  it  would  be  no 
rest  to  us  to  go  there.  We  have  not  decided  to  build  ;  it  may 
turn  out  too  expensive  ;  but  we  have  taken  lots  of  comfort  in 
talking  about  it.  We  have  been  on  several  excursions,  one  of 
them  to  the  top  of  Equinox.  It  is  a  hard  trip,  fully  six 
miles  walking  and  climbing.  I  have  amused  myself  with  writ- 
ing some  little  books  of  the  Susy  sort  :  four  in  less  than  a 
month,  A.'s  sickness  taking  a  good  piece  of  time  out  of  that 
period.  They  are  to  appear,  or  a  part  of  them,  in  the  River- 
side next  winter,  and  then  to  be  issued  in  book-form  b}^  Hurd 
and  Houghton.  This  will  a  good  deal  more  than  furnish  our 
cottage  and  what  trees  and  shrubs  we  want,  so  that  I  feel  justi- 
fied in  undertaking  that  expense.  We  had  two  weeks  at  New- 
port before  we  came  here,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  McCurdy  over- 
whelmed us  with  kindness,  paying  our  traveling  expenses,  etc., 
and  keeping  up  one  stead}^  stream  of  such  favors  the  whole 
time.  I  never  saw  such  people.  How  delightful  it  must  be  to 
be  able  to  express  such  benevolence  !  Well ;  you  and  I  can  be 
faithful  in  that  which  is  least,  at  any  rate. 

We  have  all  had  plenty  to  read  all  summer,  and  have  sat  out 
of  doors  and  read  a  good  deal.  I  am  going  now  to  carry  a  lit- 
tle wreatli  to  a  missionary's  wrfe  who  is  spending  the  summer 
here  ;  a  nice  little  woman  ;  this  will  give  me  a  three  miles  walk 
and  about  use  up  the  rest  of  the  forenoon.  In  the  afternoon  I 
have  promised  to  go  to  the  woods  with  the  children,  all  of 
whom  are  as  brown  as  Indians.  My  room  is  all  aflame  with 
two  great  trees  of  maple  ;  I  never  saw  such  a  beautiful  velvety 
color  as  they  have.  We  have  just  had  a  very  pleasant  excur- 
sion to  a  mountain  called  Haystack,  and  ate  our  dinner  sitting 

round  in  the  grass  in  view  of  a  splendid  prospect I  have 

thus  given  you  the  history  of  our  summer,  as  far  as  its  history 


THE   PASTORS   WIFE.  235 

can  be  written.  Its  ecstatic  joys  have  not  been  vvanling,  noi 
its  hours  of  shame  and  confusion  of  face  ;  but  these  are  things 
that  can  not  be  described.  What  a  mystery  life  is,  and  liou* 
we  go  up  and  down,  glad  to-day  and  sorrowful  to-morrow  !  } 
took  real  solid  comfort  thinking  of  you  and  praying  for  yni) 
this  morning.  I  love  you  dearly  and  always  shall.  Good-bye, 
dear  child. 

The  *'f<)iir  little  books"  afford  a  good  illustration  of  the 
ease  and  rai)idity  with  which  she  composed.  Wlicn  once  she 
had  fixed  upon  a  subject,  her  pen  almost  flew  over  the  paper. 
Scarcely  ever  did  she  hesitate  for  a  thought  or  for  the  right 
words  to  express  it.  Her  manuscript  rarely  showed  an  eras- 
ure or  any  change  whatever.  She  generally  wrote  on  a  port- 
folio, holding  it  upon  her  knees.  Her  pen  seemed  to  be  a  \(,t- 
itable  part  of  herself;  and  the  instant  it  began  to  mo\e,  licr 
face  glowed  with  eager  and  pleasurable  feeling.  '*  A  kitten 
(she  wrote  to  a  maiden  friend)  a  kitten  without  a  tail  to  play 
with,  a  mariner  without  a  compass,  a  bird  without  wings,  a 
woman  without  a  husband  (and  fifty-five  at  that  I)  furnish 
faint  images  of  the  desolation  of  my  heart  without  a  pen." 
But  although  she  wrote  very  fast,  she  never  began  to  write 
v/ithout  careful  study  and  premeditation  when  her  subject  re- 
quired it. 

About  this  time  77ie  Little  Preacher  appeared.  The  scene 
of  the  story  is  laid  in  the  Black  Forest.  Before  writing 
it  she  spent  a  good  deal  of  time  in  the  Astor  Library,  read- 
ing about  peasant  life  in  Germany.  In  a  letter  from  a  literary 
friend  this  little  work  is  thus  referred  to: 

I  want  to  tell  you  what  a  German  gentleman  said  to  me  the  other  day 
about  your  "  Little  Preacher."  He  was  talking  with  me  of  German  peas- 
ant life,  and  inquired  if  I  had  read  y.:ur  charming  story.  He  was  delighted 
to  find  I  knew  you,  and  exclaimed  enthusiastically:  "I  wish  1  knew  her  !  I 
would  so  like  to  thank  her  for  her  perfect  picture.  It  is  a  miracle  ol 
genius,"  he  added,  "  to  be  able  thus  to  portray  the  life  of  a  foriii:ti  peo- 
ple." He  is  very  intelligent,  and  so  1  know  you  will  be  pleased  with  \\\z 
appreciation  of  your  book.  He  said  if  he  were  not  so  poor,  he  would  buy 
a  whole  edition  of  the  "  Little  Preacher  "  to  give  to  his  friends. 

During  the  autumn  of  this  year  her  sister-in-law,  Mrs.  Ed 


236  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

ward  Payson,  died  after  a  lingering,  painful  illness.  The  fcl 
lowing  letter,  dated  October  28,  was  written  to  her  shortly  be 
fore  her  departure: 

1  have  been  so  engrossed  with  sympathy  for  Edward  and 
your  children,  that  I  have  but  just  begun  to  realise  that  you  are 
about  entering  on  a  state  of  felicity  which  ought,  for  the  time, 
to  make  me  forget  them.  Dear  Nelly,  T  congratulate  yon  with  ah 
viy  heart.  Do  not  let  the  thought  of  what  those  who  love  you 
must  suffer  in  your  loss,  diminish  the  peace  and  joy  with  which 
God  now  calls  you  to  think  only  of  Himself  and  the  home  He 
has  prepared  for  3^ou.  Try  to  leave  them  to  His  kind,  tender 
care.  He  loves  them  better  than  you  do  ;  He  can  be  to  them 
more  than  3"0u  have  been  ;  He  will  hear  your  prayers  and  all 
the  prayers  offered  for  them,  and  as  one  whom  his  mother 
comforteth,  so  will  He  comfort  them.  We,  who  shall  be  left 
here  without  you,  can  not  conceive  the  joys  on  which  you  are 
to  enter,  but  we  know  enough  to  go  with  you  to  the  very  gates 
of  the  city,  longing  to  enter  in  with  you  to  go  no  more  out. 
All  your  tears  will  soon  be  wiped  away  ;  you  will  see  the  King 
in  His  beauty  ;  you  will  see  Christ  your  Redeemer  and  realise 
all  He  is  and  all  He  has  done  for  you  ;  and  how  many  saints 
whom  you  have  loved  on  earth  will  be  standing  ready  to  seize 
you  by  the  hand  and  welcome  you  among  them  !  As  I  think 
of  these  things  my  soul  is  in  haste  to  be  gone  ;  I  long  to  be  set 
free  from  sin  and  self  and  to  go  to  the  fellowship  of  those  who 
have  done  with  them  forever,  and  are  perfect  and  entire,  want- 
ing nothing.  Dear  Nelly,  I  pray  that  you  may  have  as  easy  a 
journey  homeward  as  your  Father's  love  and  compassion  can 
make  for  you  ;  but  these  sufferings  at  the  worst  can  not  last 
long,  and  they  are  only  the  messengers  sent  to  loosen  your  last 
tie  on  earth,  and  conduct  you  to  the  sweetest  rest.  But  I  dare 
not  write  more  lest  I  weary  your  poor  worn  frame  with  words 
May  the  very  God  of  peace  be  with  you  every  moment,  even 
nnto  the  end,  and  keep  your  heart  and  raind  stayed  upon  Him  ! 

Mrs.  Payson  had  been  an  intimate  friend  of  her  childhood, 
and  was  endeared  to  her  by  uncommon  loveliness  and  excel 
lencc  of  character.  The  bereaved  husband,  with  his  little  boy 
passed  a  portion  of  the  ensuing  winter  at  the  parsonage  in 


THE    PASTORS    WTFK.  237 

New  York.  There  was  something  about  the  child,  a  sweetness 
and  a  clinging,  almost  wild,  devotion  to  his  father,  which,  to- 
gether with  his  motherless  state,  touched  his  aunt  to  the  quick 
and  called  forth  her  tenderest  love.  Many  a  page  of  Stepping 
lieavenward  was  written  with  this  child  in  her  arms  ;  and  per- 
haps that  is  one  secret  of  its  power.  When,  not  very  long 
afterwards,  he  went  to  his  mother,  Mrs.  Prentiss  wrote  to  the 
father : 

Only  this  morning  I  was  trying  to  invent  some  way  of  fram- 
ing my  little  picture  of  Francis,  so  as  to  see  it  every  day  before 
my  eyes.  And  now  this  evening's  mail  brings  your  letter,  and 
I  am  trying  to  believe  what  it  says  is  true.  If  grief  and  pain 
could  comfort  you,  you  would  be  comforted  ;  we  all  loved 
Francis,  and  A.  has  always  said  he  was  too  lovely  to  live.  How 
are  you  going  to  bear  this  new  blov/  ?  My  heart  aches  as  'it 
asks  the  question,  aches  and  trembles  for  you.  But  perhaps 
you  loved  him  so,  that  you  will  come  to  be  willing  to  have  him 
in  his  dear  mother's  safe  keeping  ;  will  bear  your  own  pain  in 
future  because  through  your  anguish  your  lamb  is  sheltered 
orever,  to  know  no  more  pain,  to  suffer  no  more  for  lack  of 
womanly  care,  and  is  already  developing  into  the  rare  charac- 
ter which  made  him  so  precious  to  you.  Oh  do  try  to  rejoice 
for  him  while  you  can  not  but  mourn  for  yourself.  At  the  longest 
you  will  not  have  long  to  suffer ;  we  are  a  short-lived  race. 

But  while  I  write  I  feel  that  I  want  some  one  to  speak  a 
omforting  word  to  me ;  I  too  am  bereaved  in  the  death  ot 
this  precious  child,  and  my  sympathy  for  you  is  in  itself  a 
pang.  Dear  little  lamb  !  I  can  not  realise  that  I  shall  never 
see  that  sweet  face  again  in  this  world  ;  but  I  shall  see  it  in 
heaven.  God  bless  and  comfort  you,  my  dear  afflicted  broi'ier. 
I  dare  not  weary  you  with  words  which  all  seem  a  mockery  ;  I 
can  on.y  assure  you  of  my  tenderest  love  and  sympathy,  and 
that  we  all  feel  with  and  for  you  as  only  those  can  who  know 
what  this  child  was  to  you.  I  am  going  to  bed  with  an  aching 
heart,  praying  that  light  may  spring  out  of  this  darkness.  Give 
love  from  us  all  to  Ned  and  Will.  Perhaps  Ned  will  kindly 
write  me  if  you  feel  that  you  can  not,  and  tell  me  all  about  the 
dear  child's  illness. 


238  THE    LIFE   OF    MRS.  PRENTISS. 


II. 


Last  Visit  from  Mrs.  Stearns.    Visits  to  old  Friends  at  Newport  and  Rochester.    Letteri 
Goes  to  Dorset.     Fred  and  Maria  and  Me.     Letters. 

The  life  of  a  pastor's  wife  is  passed  in  the  midst  of  mingled 
gladness  and  sorrow.  While  somebody  is  always  rejoicing, 
somebody,  too,  is  always  sick  or  dying,  or  else  weeping.  How 
often  she  goes  with  her  husband  from  the  wedding  to  the  fu- 
neral, or  hurries  with  him  from  the  funeral  to  the  wedding. 
And  then,  perhaps,  in  her  own  family  circle  the  same  process 
is  repeated.  The  year  1868  was  marked  for  Mrs.  Prentiss  in 
an  unusual  degree  by  the  sorrowful  experience.  The  latter 
part  of  May  Mrs.  Stearns,  then  suffering  from  an  exhausting 
disease,  came  to  New  York  and  spent  several  weeks  in  hopes  of 
finding  some  relief  from  change  of  scene.  But  her  case  grev/ 
more  alarming;  she  passed  the  summer  at  Cornwall  on  the 
Hudson  in  great  pain  and  feebleness,  and  was  then  carried 
home  to  lie  down  on  her  dying  bed. 

We  had  a  dreadful  time  getting  here  ;   I  did  not  sleep  a 

To  Mrs.    ^^'i^k  ;  there  were  1,250  passengers  on  board,  almost 

Stearns,    piled  OH  each  other,  and  such  screaminor  of  babies  it 

July  7,     would  be  hard  to  equal.     There  are  lots  of  people  here 

we  know  ;  ever  so  many  stopped  to  speak  to  us  after 

church.     We  are  in  the  midst  of  a  perfect  world  of  show  and 

glitter.     But  how  many  empty  hearts  drive  up  and  down   in 

this  gay  procession  of  wealth  and  fashion  ! 

I  shall  think  of  you  a  good  deal  to-day,  as  setting  forth  on 
your  journey  and  reaching  your  new  home.  I  do  hope  you  will 
find  it  refreshing  to  go  up  the  river,  and  that  your  rooms  will 
be  pleasant  and  airy.  We  shall  be  anxious  to  hear  all  about  it. 
It  is  a  constant  lesson  to  be  with  Mrs.  McCurdy.  I  think 
she  is  a  true  Christian  in  all  her  views  of  life  and  death.  Her 
sweet  patience,  cheerfulness  and  contentment  are  a  continual 
reproof  to  me.  Here  she  is  so  lame  that  she  can  go  nowhere— 
a  lameness  of  over  twenty  years — restricted  to  the  plainest 
food,  liable  to  die  at  any  moment,  yet  the  very  happiest,  sun- 
niest  creature  I  ever  saw.     She  says,  with  tears,  that  God  has 


THE   pastor's   wife.  239 

been  too  good  to  her  and  given  her  too  much  ;  that  she  some- 
times fears  He  does  not  love  her  because  He  gives  her  such 
prosperity.  I  reminded  her  of  the  four  lovely  children  she  had 
lost.  "  Yes,"  she  says,  *'  but  how  man}^  lovely  ones  I  have  left  !  " 
She  says  that  the  long  hours  she  has  to  spend  alone,  on  account 
of  her  physical  infirmities,  are  never  lonely  or  sad  ;  she  sings 
hymns  and  thinks  over  to  herself  all  the  pleasures  she  has  er- 
joyed  in  the  past,  in  her  husband  and  children  and  devoted 
servants.  She  goes  up  to  bed  singing,  and  I  hear  her  singing 
while  she  dresses.  She  said,  the  other  day,  that  at  her  funeral 
she  hoped  the  only  services  would  be  prayers  and  hymns  of 
praise.  I  think  this  very  remarkable  from  one  who  enjoys  life 
as  she  does.' 

George  and  I  went  to  Rochester,  taking  M.  with  us,  last 
Wednesday  and  sfot  back  Friday  night.     We  had  one 

To  the  Same,    ^     ,  .    .         ,  ,  ,     •  »     i-r 

Newport,  of  tliose  visits  that  make  a  mark  m  one  s  lite  ;  seemg 
Juiy^o.  y^^^  ,^^^  ^j.g  Leonard,  and  Mrs.  Randall,  and  Miss 
Deborah,''  so  fond  of  us,  and  all  together  we  were  stirred  up 
as  we  rarely  are,  and  refreshed  beyond  description.  We  rowed 
on  Mr.  Leonard's  beautiful,  nameless  lake,  fished,  gathered 
water-lilies,  ate  black  Hamburg  grapes  and  broiled  chickens, 
and  wished  you  had  them  in  our  place.     Mr.  L.'s  mother  is  a 

'  Mrs.  McCurdy  died  at  her  home  in  New  York  in  December,  1876,  A  few  sentences 
from  a  brief  address  at  the  funeral  by  her  old  pastor  will  not  be  here  out  of  place.  "  Hex 
natural  character  was  one  of  the  loveliest  I  have  ever  known.  Its  leading  traits  were  as 
simple  and  clear  as  daylight,  while  its  cheering  effect  upon  those  who  came  under  its 
influence  was  like  that  of  sunshine.  She  was  not  only  very  happy  herself— enjoying  life 
to  the  last  in  her  home  and  her  friends — but  she  was  gifted  with  a  disposition  and  power 
to  make  others  happy  such  as  falls  to  the  lot  of  only  a  select  few  of  the  race.  Her  do- 
mestic and  church  ties  brought  her  into  relations  of  intimate  acquaintance  and  friendship 
with  some  of  the  best  men  of  her  times.  I  will  venture  to  mention  two  of  them  :  her 
uncle,  the  late  Theodore  Frelinghuysen,  one  of  the  noblest  men  our  country  has  pro- 
duced, eminent  alike  as  statesman,  scholar,  and  Christian  philanthropist ;  and  the  sainted 
Thomas  H.  Skinner,  her  former  pastor.  Her  sick-room— if  sick-room  is  the  proper 
Qame-4n  which,  during  the  last  seventeen  years,  she  passed  so  mucli  of  her  time,  was 
.inged  with  no  sort  of  gloom  ;  it  seemed  to  have  two  doors,  one  of  them  opening  into 
the  world,  through  which  her  family  and  friends  passed  in  and  out,  learning  lessons  of 
patience  and  love  and  sweet  contentment :  the  other  opening  heavenward,  and  ever  ajar 
to  admit  the  messenger  of  her  Lord,  in  whatever  watch  he  should  cone  to  summon  her 
home.  The  place  was  like  that  upper  chamber  facing  the  sunrising,  and  whose  name 
was  Peace,  in  which  Bunyan's  Pilgrim  was  lodged  on  the  way  to  the  celestial  city.  Hu^« 
many  pleasant  au  .  hallowed  memories  lead  back  to  that  room  ' '' 

3  Old  New  Red  ford  friends. 


240  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

sweet,  calm  old  lady,  with  whom  I  wanted  to  have  a  talk  about 
Christian  perfection,  in  which  she  believes  ;  but  there  was  no 
time.  It  was  a  great  rest  to  unbend  the  bow  strung  so  high 
here  at  Newport,  where  there  is  so  much  of  receiving  and  pay- 
ing visits.  I  have  been  reading  a  delightful  French  book,  the 
liistory  of  a  saintly  Catholic  family  of  great  talent  and  culture, 
six  of  whom,  in  the  course  of  seven  years,  died  the  most  beau- 
tiful, happy  deaths.  I  am  going  to  make  an  abstract  of  it,  for 
I  want  everybody  I  love  to  get  the  cream  of  it.  You  would 
enjoy  it ;  I  do  not  know  whether  it  has  been  translated. 

Here  begins  my  first  letter  to  you  from  your  old  room, 
whence  I  hope  to  write  you  regularly  every  week. 
Dorset,  That  IS  the  one  only  little  thing  I  can  do  to  show 
julyzt.  ^^^^  truly  and  constantly  I  sympathise  with  you  in 
your  sore  straits.  It  distresses  me  to  hear  how  much  you  are 
suffering,  and  at  the  same  time  not  to  be  near  enough  to  speak 
a  word  of  good  cheer,  or  to  do  anything  for  your  comfort.  It 
grieves  me  to  find  how  insecure  my  health  is,  for  I  had  prom- 
ised to  myself  to  be  your  loving  nurse,  should  any  turn  in  you' 
disease  make  it  desirable.  Miss  Lyman  boards  here,  but  rooms 
at  the  Sykes',  and  her  friend  Miss  Warner  is  also  here,  but 
rooms  out.  Miss  W.  is  in  delicate  health,  takes  no  tea  or  cof- 
fee, and  is  full  of  humor.  We  have  run  at  and  run  upon  each 
other,  each  trying  to  get  the  measure  of  the  other,  and  shall 
probably  end  in  becoming  very  good  friends. 

It  is  a  splendid  day,  and  we  feel  perfectly  at  home,  only 
missing  you  and  finding  it  queer  to  be  occupying  your  room. 
What  a  nice  room  it  is  !  How  I  wish  you  were  sitting  here 
with  me  behind  the  shade  of  these  maple  trees,  and  that  I 
could  know  from  your  own  lips  just  how  you  are  in  body  and 
mind.  But  I  suppose  the  weary,  aching  body  has  the  soul 
pretty  well  enchained.  Never  mind,  dear,  it  won't  be  so  al- 
ways ;  by  and  by  the  tables  will  be  turned,  and  you  will  be  the 
conqueror.  I  like  to  think  that  far  less  than  a  hundred  years 
hence  we  shall  all  be  free  ^rom  the  law  of  sin  and  death,  and 
happier  in  one  moment  of  our  new  existence,  than  through  a 
whole  life-time  here.  Rest  must  and  will  come,  sooner  or  later, 
to  you  and  to  me  and  to  all  of  us,  and  it  will  be  glorious.  You 
may  have  seen  a  notice  of  the  death  of  Prof.  Hopkins'  mother 


THE   PASTORS   WIFE.  24 1 

at  the  age  of  ninety-five.     But  for  this  terribly  hot  vveatlier,  I 
presume  she  might  have  lived  to  be  one  hundred. 

I  shall  not  write  you  such  a  long  letter  again,  as  it  will  tire 
you,  and  if  you  would  rather  have  two  short  ones  a  week,  I 
will  do  that.  Let  me  know  if  I  tire  you.  Now  good-bye,  dear 
child  ;  may  God  bless  and  keep  you  and  give  you  all  the  failh 
and  patience  you  need. 

We  spent  rather  more  than  two  weeks  at  Newport,  taking 
To  Miss  ^'^^  *^^  three  days  to  run  to  Rochester,  Mass.,  to  see 
Mary  B.  some  of  Our  old  New  Bedford  friends.  We  had  a 
Dorset,  Aii^.  charming  time  with  them,  as  they  took  us  up  just 
2, 1S68.  ^yhej-e  they  left  us  nearly  twenty  years  ago.  Oh,  how 
our  tongues  did  fly  !  We  left  Newport  for  home  on  Tuesday 
night  about  two  weeks  ago.  I  went  on  board  and  went  to 
bed  as  well  as  usual,  tossed  and  turned  a  few  hours,  grew  faint 
and  began  to  be  sick,  as  I  always  am  now  if  I  lose  my  sleep  ; 
got  out  of  bed  and  could  not  get  back  again,  and  so  lay  on  the 
floor  all  the  rest  of  the  night  without  a  pillow,  or  anything 
over  me  and  nearly  frozen.  The  boys  were  asleep,  and  anyhow 
it  never  crossed  my  mind  to  let  them  call  George,  who  was  in 
another  state-room.  He  says  that  when  he  came  in,  in  the 
morning,  I  looked  as  if  I  had  been  ill  six  months,  and  I  am 
sure  I  felt  so.  Imagine  the  family  picture  we  presented  driving 
from  the  boat  all  the  way  home,  George  rubbing  me  with 
cologne,  A.  fanning  me,  the  rest  crying  !  On  Saturday  more 
dead  than  alive  I  started  for  this  place,  and  by  stopping  at 
Troy  four  or  five  hours,  getting  a  room  and  a  bed,  I  got  here 
without  much  damage. 

Our  house  is  very  pretty,  and  I  suppose  it  will  be  done  by 
next  year.  Oh,  how  they  do  poke  !  George  is  so  happy  in 
watching  it,  and  in  working  in  his  woods,  that  I  am  perfectly 
delighted  that  he  has  undertaken  this  project.  It  may  add 
years  to  his  life.  Imagine  my  surprise  at  receiving  from  Scrib- 
ner  a  check  for  one  hundred  and  sixty-four  dollars  for  six 
months  of  Fred  and  Maria  and  Me.  The  little  thing  has  done 
v/ell,  hasn't  it  ?  I  feel  now  as  if  I  should  never  write  any  more  ; 
letter-writing  is  only  talking  and  is  an  amusement,  but  book- 
writing  looks  formidable.  Excuse  this  horrid  letter,  and  write 
and  let  me  know  how  you  are.  Meanwhile  collect  grasses. 
16 


242  THE    Lll-1£   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

dip  them  in  hot  water,  and  sift  flour  over  them.     Good-bye 
dear. 

Fred  and  Maria  and  Me  first  appeared  anonymously  in  the 
Hours  at  Home,  in  1865.  It  had  been  written  several  years 
before,  and,  without  the  knowledge  of  Mrs.  Prentiss,  was  of- 
fered by  a  friend  to  whom  she  had  lent  the  manuscript,  to  the 
Atlantic  Monthly  and  to  one  or  two  other  magazines,  but 
they  all  declined  it.  She  herself  thus  refers  to  it  in  a  letter 
to  Mrs.  Smith,  July  13:  ''I  have  just  got  hold  of  the 
Hours  at  Home.  I  read  my  article  and  was  disgusted  with 
it.  My  pride  fell  below  zero,  and  I  wish  it  would  stay  there." 
But  the  story  attracted  instant  attention.  *'Aunt  Avery" 
was  especially  admired,  as  depicting  a  very  quaint  and  inter- 
esting type  of  New  England  religious  character  in  the  earlier 
half  of  the  century.  Such  men  as  the  late  Dr.  Horace  Bush- 
nell  and  Dr.  William  Adams  were  unstinted  in  their  praise. 
In  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Smith,  dated  a  few  months  later,  Mrs.  Pren- 
tiss writes  :  "  Poor  old  Aunt  Avery  !  She  doesn't  know  what 
to  make  of  it  that  folks  make  so  much  of  her,  and  has  to 
keep  wiping  her  spectacles.  I  feel  entirely  indebted  to  you 
for  this  thing  ever  seeing  the  light."  When  published  as 
a  book,  Fred  and  Maria  and  Me  was  received  with  great  favor, 
and  had  a  wide  circulation.  In  1874  a  German  translation  ap- 
peared.' Although  no  attempt  is  made  to  reproduce  the 
Yankee  idioms,  much  of  the  peculiar  spirit  and  flavor  of  the 
original  is  preserved  in  this  version. 

Miss  Lyman  says  I  have  no  idea  of  what  Miss  W.  really  is  ; 
To  Mrs    ^^^  looks  as  if  she  would  drop  to  pieces,  can  not  drive 
//.  h\     out,  far  less  walk,  and  every  word  she  speaks  costs 
Dorset,    her  an  effort.     Miss  Lyman   is  not  well  either  ,  and 
^^sS''  ^'  '^^'h^t  with  their  health  and  mine,  and  A.'s,  I  see  little 
of  them.    But  what  I  do  see  is  delightful,  and  I  feel  it  to 
oe  a  real  privilege  to  get  what  scraps  of  their  society  I  can.   Our 
house  proves  to  be  far  prettier  and  more  tasteful  than   I  sup- 
posed.    I  am  writing  up  lots  of  letters,  and  if  I  ever  get  well 
enough,  shall  try  to  begin  on  my  Katy  once  more.     But  since 

'  Fritz  unci  Maria  und  Icli.     Von  Mrs.  Prentiss.     Deutsche  autorisirte  Ausgfabe.     Vor 
Maiie  Morgenstern.     Itzchoe   18-4. 


THE    PASTORS   WIFE.  243 

reading  the  Recit  d'une  Soeur,  I  am  disgusted  with  myscll 
and  my  writings.  I  ache  to  have  you  read  it.  Miss  Lyman 
and  Miss  Warner  send  love  to  you.  I  do  not  like  Miss  L.'s 
hacking  cougii,  and  she  says  she  does  not  believe  Miss  W.  wih 
live  through  the  winter.  Among  us  we  contrive  to  keep  up  a 
vast  amount  of  laughter  ;  so  we  shall  probably  live  forever. 

August  18///. — I  have  enjoyed  Miss  Lyman  wonderfully,  but 
want  to  get  nearer  to  her.  I  see  that  she  is  one  who  does  not 
find  it  easy  to  express  her  deepest  and  most  sacred  feelings.  I 
reaa  Katy  to  her  and  Miss  W.,  as  they  were  kind  enough  to 
propose  I  should,  and  they  made  some  valuable  suggestions  to 
which  I  shall  attend  if  I  ever  get  to  feeling  able  to  begin  to 
write  again.  I  am  as  well  as  ever  save  in  one  respect,  and  that 
is  my  sleep  ;  I  do  not  sleep  as  I  did  before  I  left  home,  v^'hile  I 
ought  to  sleep  better,  as  I  work  several  hours   a  day  in  the 

woods,  in  fact  do  almost  literally  nothing  else But  after 

all,  we  arc  having  the  nicest  time  in  the  world.  I  have  nut 
seen  George  so  like  himself  for  man}^  years  ;  he  lives  out  ot 
doors,  pulls  down  fences,  picks  up  brushwood,  and  keeps  happy 
and  well.  I  feel  it  a  real  mercy  that  his  thoughts  are  agreeably 
occupied  this  summer,  as  otherwise  he  would  be  incessantly 
worried  about  Anna.  We  work  together  a  good  deal  ;  this 
morning  I  spoiled  a  new  hatchet  in  cutting  down  milkweed 
where  our  kitchen  garden  is  to  be  and  we  are  literally  raising 
our  Ebenezer,  which  we  mean  to  conceal  with  vines  in  due 
season.  George  is  just  as  proud  of  our  woods  as  if  he  created 
every  tree  himself.  The  minute  breakfast  is  over  the  boys  dart 
down  to  the  house  like  arrows  from  the  bow,  and  there  they 
are  till  dinner,  after  which  there  is  another  dart  and  it  is  as 
much  as  I  can  do  to  get  them  to  bed  ;  I  wonder  they  don't  sleep 
down  there  on  the  shavings.  The  fact  is  the  whole  Prentiss 
family  has  got  house  on  the  brain.  There,  this  old  letter  is 
done,  and  1  am  going  to  bed,  all  black  and  blue  where  I  .lave 
tumbled  down,  and  as  tired  as  tired  can  be. 

Aug.  2%th. — I  made  a  tire  in  MY  woods  yesterday,  and  an- 
other to-day,  when  I  melted  glue,  and  worked  at  my  ru:;tic 
basket,  and  felt  extremely  happy  and  amiable. 

Sept.  \ith — Miss  Warner  told  me  to-night  that  she  tliouLcln 
my  Katy  story  commonplace  at  the  beginning,  but  that  she 
changed  her  mind  afterward.     Of  course  I  wrote  a  story  about 


244  ''"^I''    '-^^'^'    ^*^'   ^'^^-    PRENTISS. 

that  marigold  of  G W 's  and  I  am  dying  to  inflict  it  on 

you.     Then  if  you  like  it,  hurrah  ! 

1  was  right  glad  to  get  your  letter  yesterday,  and  to  learn  a 

j^.^,_j    little    of    your  whereabouts    and    whatabouts.      You 

ii'ooisey,   may   imagine    "him"   as    seated,  spectacles  on  nose, 

AiZ'%    reading  The  Nation  at  one  end  of  the  table,  and  "  her  " 

^^^^-  as  established  at  the  other.  This  table  is  homel}^,  but 
has  a  literary  look,  got  up  to  give  an  air  to  our  room  ;  books 
ar  -  papers  are  artistically  scattered  over  it  ;  we  have  two  bot- 
tles of  ink  apiece,  and  a  box  of  stamps,  a  paper  cutter  and  a 
pen-wiper  between  us.  Two  inevitable  vases  containing  ferns, 
grasses,  buttercups,  etc.,  remind  us  that  we  are  in  the  country^ 
and  a  "natural  bracket"  regales  our  august  noses  with  an  odor 
of  its  own.  A  can  of  peaches  without  any  peaches  in  it,  holds 
a  specimen  of  lycopodium,  and  a  marvelous  lantern  that  folds 
up  into  nothing  by  day  and  grows  big  at  night,  brings  up  the 
rear.  But  the  most  wonderful  article  in  this  room  is  a  book- 
case made  by  "  him,"  all  himself,  in  which  may  be  seen  a  big 
volume  of  Fenelon,  Taylor's  Holy  Living  and  Dying,  the  Recit 
d'une  Soeur,  which  have  you  read  ?  Les  Soirees  de  Saint  Pe- 
tersbourg,  Prayers  of  the  Ages,  a  volume  of  Goethe,  Aristotle's 
Ethics  and  some  other  Greek  books  ;  the  Life  of  Mrs.  Fry,  etc. 
etc.  Such  a  queer  hodge-podge  of  books  as  we  brought  w^ith 
us,  and  such  a  book-case  !  The  first  thing  "  he  "  ever  made  for 
"  her  "  in  his  mortal  life. 

Our  house  isn't  done,  and  what  fun  to  watch  it  grow,  to 
discuss  its  merits  and  demerits,  to  grab  every  check  that  comes 
in  from  magazine  and  elsewhere,  and  turn  it  into  chairs  and 
tables  and  beds  and  blankets  !  Then  for  "  them  boys,"  what 
treasures  in  the  way  of  bits  of  boards,  and  what  feats  of  climb- 
ing and  leaping  !  Above  all,  think  of  "him  "  in  an  old  banged- 
in  hat,  and  "  her  "  in  a  patched  old  gown,  gathering  brushwood 
in  their  woods,  making  it  up  into  heaps,  and  warming  them- 
selves by  the  fires  it  is  agoing  for  to  make. 

"  Stick  after  stick  did  Goody  pull !  " 

Mr.  P.  is  unusually  well.  I  lis  house  is  the  apple  of  his  eye, 
and  he  is  renewing  his  youth.  Thus  far  the  project  has  done 
him  a  world  of  good. 


THE    PAST(JR  S    WITE.  24: 

Yesterday  Mr.  F.  and  George  drove  somewhere  to  look  at 
sand    for    mortar,    and    the    horse    took    fright    and 
To  Mrs.    wheeled  round  and  pitched  George  out,  bruising  him 
Dorset'    in  several  places,  but  doing  no  serious  harm.     But  I 
/13,  1S6S.''  shudder  when   I   think   how  the    meaning  might   he 
taken  out  of  everything  in  this  world,  for  me,  at  least. 
by  such  an  accident.     He  preached   all  day  to-day  ;  in  the  af- 
ternoon at  Rupert.     I  find  my  mission-school  a  good  deal  of  a 
Lax  on  time  and  strength,  and  it  is  discouraging  business,  too. 
One  of  the  boys,  fourteen   years  old,  found  the  idea  that  God 
loved  him  so  irresistibly  ludicrous,  that  his  face  was  a  perfect 
study.     I  often  think  of  you  as  these  "active  limbs  of  mine" 
take  me  over  woods  and  fields,  and  remind  myself  that  the  su- 
preme happiness  of  my  father's  life  came  to  him  when  he  called 
himself  w^hat  you  call  yourself — a  cripple.     If  it  is  not  an  ex- 
pensive book,  I  think  you  had  better  buy  A  Sister's  Story,  of 
which   I  wrote  to  you,  as  it  would  be   a  nice  Sunday  book  lo 
last  some  time  ;  the  Catholicism  you  would  not  mind,  and  the 
cultivated,  high-toned  Christian  character  you  would  enjoy. 

The  boys  complain,  as  George  and  I  do,  that  the  days  are 
not  half  long  enough.  They  have  got  their  bedsteads  and 
washstands  done,  and  are  now  going  to  make  couches  for 
George  and  myself,  and  an  indefinite  number  of  other  articles. 
Sept.  2otIi. — I  am  greatly  relieved,  my  dear  Anna,  to  hear 
that  you  have  got  safely  into  your  new  home,  and  that  you  like 
it,  and  long  to  see  you  face  to  face.  George  has  no  doubt  told 
you  what  a  happy  summer  we  have  had.  It  has  not  been  un- 
mingled  happiness — that  is  not  to  be  found  in  this  world — but 
in  many  ways  it  has  been  pleasant  in  spite  of  what  infirmities 
of  the  flesh  we  carry  wath  us  everyw^here,  our  anxiety  about 
and  sympathy  with  you,  and  the  other  cares  and  solicitude? 
that  are  inseparable  from  humanity.  I  had  a  great  deal  of 
comfort  in  seeing  Miss  Lyman  while  she  was  here,  and  in 
knowing  her  better,  and  now  I  am  finding  myself  quite  in  love 
with  her  intimate  friend,  Miss  Warner,  who  has  been  here  all 
summer.     A  gentler,  tenderer  spirit  can  not  exist. 

Mrs.  F.'s  brother  was  here  with  his  wife,  some  weeks  ago, 
and  they  were  summoned  home  to  the  death-bed  of  their  last 
surviving  child.  Mrs.  F.  read  me  a  letter  yesterday  describin.g 
her    last    hours,    which    were    really    touching    and    beautiful 


246  THE    LIFE    OF    MRS.    PRENTISS. 

especially  the  distributing  among  her  friends  the  various  pret- 
ty things  she  had  made  for  them  during  her  illness,  as  parti  ig 
gifts.  I  suppose  this  will  be  my  last  letter  from  Dorset  a.id 
from  your  old  room.  Well,  you  and  I  have  passed  some  happy 
hours  under  this  roof.  Good-bye,  dear,  with  love  to  each  and 
all  of  your  beloved  ones. 

I  was  so  nearly  frantic,  m}^  dear  Fanny,  from  want  of  sleep, 

^    ,,.      that  I  could  not  feel  anvthing.     I  was  perfectly  stu- 
To  Miss  ^  &  r  J- 

Eliza  A.    pid,  and  all  the  way  home  from   East  Dorset  hardly 

DorlTtl   spoke  a  word  to  my  dear  John,  nor  did  he  to  me.'    The 

*^<^^- 27.    next  day  he  said  such  lovely  things  to  me  that  I  hardly 

knew  whether  I  was  in  the  body  or  out  o^  it,  and  then 

came  your  letter,  as  if  to  make  my  cup  run  over.     I  longed  for 

you  last  night,  and  it  is  lucky  for  your  frail  body  that  can  bear 

so  little,  that  you  were  not  in  your  little  room  at  Mrs.  G.'s  ;  but 

not  at  all  lucky  for  your  heart  and  soul.     I  hope  God  will  bless 

us  to  each  other.     It  is  not  enough  that  we  find  in  our  mutual 

affection  something  cheering  and  comforting.     It  must  make  us 

more  perfectly  His.     AVhat  a  wonderful  thing  it  is  that  coming 

here  entire  strangers  to  each  other,  we  part  as  if  we  had  known 

each  other  half  a  century  ! 

I  am  not  afraid  that  we  shall  get  tired  of  each  other.  The 
great  point  of  union  is  that  we  have  gone  to  our  Saviour,  hand 
in  hand,  on  the  supreme  errand  of  life,  and  have  not  come 
away  empty.  All  my  meditations  bring  me  back  to  that  point ; 
or,  I  should  rather  say,  to  Him.  I  came  here  praying  that  in 
some  way  I  might  do  something  for  Him.  The  summer  has 
gone,  and  I  am  grieved  that  I  have  not  been,  from  its  begin- 
ning to  its  end,  so  like  Him,  so  full  of  Him,  as  to  constrain  ev- 
erybody I  met  to  love  Him  too.  Isn't  there  such  power  in  a 
holy  life,  and  have  not  some  lived  such  a  life  ?  I  hardly  know 
whether  to  rejoice  most  in  my  love  for  Him,  or  to  mourn  over 
my  meagre  love  ;  so  I  do  both. 

When  I  think  that  I  have  a  new  friend,  who  will  be  indul- 
gent to  my  imperfections,  and  is  determined  to  find  something 
in  me  to  love,  I  am  glad  and  thankful.  But  when,  added  to 
that,  I   know  she  will  pray  for  me,  and  so  help   my  poor  soul 

•  She  gave  me  the  pet-name  of  "  Fanny  "  because  she  did  not  like  mine,  and  there  was 
an  old  joke  about  "John." — E.  A.  W. 


THE   pastor's   wife.  247 

heavenward,  it  does  seem  as  if  God  had  been  too  good  to  me. 
Vou  can  do  it  lying  down  or  sitting  up,  or  when  you  are 
among  other  friends.  It  is  true,  as  you  say,  that  I  do  ne)t 
think  much  of  "lying-down  prayer"  in  my  own  case,  but  I 
have  not  a  weak  back  and  do  not  need  such  an  attitude.  And  the 
praying  we  do  by  the  wayside,  in  cars  and  steamboats,  in  streets 
and  in  crowds,  perhaps  keeps  us  more  near  to  Christ  than  long 
prayers  in  solitude  could  without  the  help  of  these  little  mes- 
sengers, that  hardly  ever  stop  running  to  Him  and  coming 
back  with  the  grace  every  moment  needs.  You  can  put  me 
into  some  of  these  silent  petitions  when  you  are  too  tired  to 
pray  for  me  otherwise. 

I  have  been  writing  this  in  my  shawl  and  bonnet,  expecting 
every  instant  to  hear  the  bell  toll  for  church,  and  now  it  is  time 
to  go.     Good-bye,  dear,  till  by  and  by. 

Well,  I  have  been  and  come,  and — wonder  of  wonders  ! — I 
have  had  a  little  tiny  bit  of  a  very  much  needed  nap,  Mr. 
Pratt  gave  us  a  really  good  sermon  about  living  to  Christ,  and 
I  enjoyed  the  hymns.  We  have  had  a  talk,  my  John  and  I, 
about  death,  and  I  asked  him  which  of  us  had  better  go  first, 
and,  to  my  surprise,  he  said  he  thought  /  should.  I  am  sure 
that  was  noble  and  unselfish  in  him.  But  I  am  not  going  to 
have  even  a  wish  about  it.  God  only  knows  which  had  better 
go  first,  and  which  stay  and  suffer.  Some  of  His  children  must 
go  into  the  furnace  to  testify  that  the  Son  of  God  is  there  with 
them  ;  I  do  not  know  why  I  should  insist  on  not  being  one  of 
them.  Sometimes  I  almost  wish  we  were  not  building  a  house. 
It  seems  as  if  it  might  stand  in  the  way,  if  it  should  happen  I 
had  a  chance  to  go  to  heaven.  I  should  almost  feel  mean  to 
do  that,  and  disappoint  my  husband  who  expects  to  see  me  so 
happy  there.  But  oh,  I  do  so  long  to  be  perfected  myself,  and 
to  live  among  those  whose  one  thought  is  Christ,  and  who  only 
speak  to  praise  Him  ! 

I  like  you  to  tell  me,  as  you  do  in  your  East  Dorset  letter, 
how  you  spend  your  time,  etc.  I  have  an  insatiable  curiosity 
about  even  the  outer  li^'j  of  those  I  love  ;  and  of  the  inner  one 
you  can  not  say  too  much.  Good-bye.  We  shall  have  plent> 
of  time  in  heaven  to  sav  all  we  have  to  say  to  each  other. 


248  THE    LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 


III. 

Return  to  Town.     Death  of  an  old  Friend.    Letters  and  Notes  of  Love  and  Sympathy 
An  Old  Ladies'  Party.    Scenes  of  Trouble  and  Dying  Beds.    Fifty  Years  old.    Letters 

Her  return  to  town  brought  with  it  a  multitude  of  cares. 
The  following  months  drew  heavily  upon  her  strength  and 
sympathies ;  but  for  all  that  they  were  laden  with  unwonted 
joy.  The  summer  at  Dorset  had  been  a  very  happy  one. 
While  there  she  had  finished  Stepping  Heavenward  and  on 
coming  back  to  her  city  home,  the  cheery,  loving  spirit  of  the 
book  seemed  still  to  possess  her  whole  being.  Katy's  words 
at  its  close  were  evidently  an  expression  of  her  own  feelings : 

Yes,  I  love  everybody  !  That  crowning-  joy  has  come  to  me  at  last. 
Christ  is  in  my  soul;  He  is  mine;  I  am  as  conscious  of  it  as  that  my  hus- 
band and  children  are  mine  ;  and  His  Spirit  flows  forth  from  mine  in  the 
cahn  peace  of  a  river,  whose  banks  are  green  with  grass,  and  glad  with 
flowers. 

This  is  the  first  moment  since  we  reached  home,  in  which  I 

could  write  to  you,  but  I  have  had  you  in  my  heart 

Eliza  A.    and  in  my  thoughts  as  much  as  ever.    We  had  a  pros- 

NewvTrk  P^^^^'^s  journey,  but  the  ride  to  Rupert  was  fearfully 

Oct.  5,      cold.     I  never  remember  beinor  so  cold,  unless  it  was 
1S68 

the  night  I  reached  Williamstown,  when  I  went  to  my 

dear  sister's  funeral I  have  told  you  this  long  story  to 

try  to  give  you  a  glimpse  of  the  distracted  life  that  meets  us  at 
our  very  threshold  as  we  return  home.  And  now  I'm  going  to 
trot  down  to  see  Miss  Lyman,  whom  I  shall  just  take  and  hug,  for 
I  am  so  brimful  of  love  to  everybody  that  I  must  break  some- 
body's bones,  or  burst.  John  preached  delightfully  yesterday  ;  T 
wanted  you  there  to  hear.  But  all  my  treasures  are  in  earthen 
vessels;  he  seems  all  used  up  by  his  Sunday  and  scarcely 
touched  his  breakfast.  I  don't  see  how  his  or  my  race  can  be 
very  long,  if  we  live  in  New  York.  All  the  more  reason  for 
running  it  well.  And  what  a  blessed,  blessed  life  it  is,  at  the 
worst  !  "Central  peace  subsisting  at  the  heart  of  endless  agi- 
tation." Good-bye,  dear  ;  consider  yourself  embraced  by  a 
hearty  soul  that  heartily  loves  you,  and  that  soul  lives  in  E.  P 


A  DAUiiii  ri:K  rii-   co-NsuL.vriON.  249 

On  the  25th  of  October  Mr.  Charles  H.  Leonard,  an  old 
and  highly  esteemed  friend,  died  very  suddenly  at  his  summer 
home  in  Rochester,  Mass.  He  was  a  man  of  sterling  worth, 
generous,  large-hearted,  and  endeared  to  Mrs.  Prentiss  and  her 
husband  by  many  acts  of  kindness.  He  was  one  of  the  found- 
ers of  the  Church  of  the  Covenant  and  had  also  aided  liberally 
in  building  its  pleasant  parsonage. 

I  am  reminded  as  I  write  my  date,  that  I  am  fifty  years  old 
to-day.     My  John  says  it  is  no  such  thing,  and  that  I 
miZ^A.    am  only  thirty  ;  but  I  begin  to  feel  antiquated,  dilapi- 
[^'<^nier    (j[ated,  and  antediluvian,  etc.,  etc. 

Aezv  York,  '  •  -n* 

Oct.  26,  I  write  to  let  you  know  that  we  are  gomg  to  Ro- 

^^^'  Chester,  Mass.,  to  attend  the  funeral  of  a  dear  friend 
there.  It  seems  best  for  me  to  risk  the  wear  and  tear  of  the 
going  and  the  coming,  if  I  can  thereby  give  even  a  little  com- 
fort to  one  who  loves  me  dearly,  and  who  is  now  left  without  a 
single  relative  in  the  world.  For  twenty-four  years  these  have 
been  faithful  friends,  loving  us  better  every  year,  members  of 
our  church  in  New  Bedford,  Mercer  street,  and  then  here. 
They  lived  at  Rochester  during  the  summer  and  we  visited 
them  there  (yon  may  remember  my  speaking  of  it)  just  before 
we  went  to  Dorset.  Mrs.  Leonard  was  then  feeling  very  un- 
easy about  her  husband,  but  he  got  better  and  seemed  about 
as  usual,  till  last  Tuesday,  when  he  was  stricken  down  with 
paralysis  and  died  on  Saturday.  Somebody  said  that  spending 
so  large  a  portion  of  my  time  as  I  do  in  scenes  of  sorrow,  she 
wondered  God  did  not  give  me  more  strength.  But  I  think 
He  knows  just  how  much  to  give.  I  have  been  to  Newark 
twice  since  I  wrote  you.  Mrs.  Stearns  is  in  a  very  suffering 
condition  ;  I  was  appalled  by  the  sight  ;  appalled  at  the  weak- 
ness of  human  nature  (its  physical  weakness).  But  I  got  over 
that,  and  had  a  sweet  glimpse  at  least  of  the  eternal  felicity 
that  is  to  be  the  end  of  what  at  longest  is  a  brief  period  of  suf- 
fering. I  write  her  a  little  bit  of  a  note  every  few  days.  I  feci 
like  a  ball  that  now  is  tossed  to  Sorrow  and  tossed  back  by 
Sorrow  to  Joy.  For  mixed  in  with  every  day's  experience  of 
suffering  are  such  great,  such  unmerited  mercies. 

Two  or  three  of  the  little  notes  follow : 


250  Tin:    LIFK    OF    MRS.    PRENTISS. 

My  Dearest  Anna  : — I  long  to  be  with  you  through  the 
hours  that  are  before  you,  and  to  help  cheer  and  s.-stain  you  in 
the  trial  of  faith  and  patience  to  which  you  are  called.  But 
unless  you  need. me  I  will  not  go,  lest  I  should  be  the  one  too 
many  in  your  state  of  excitement  and  suspense.  We  all  feel 
anxiety  as  to  the  result  of  the  incision,  but  take  comfort  in  cast- 
ing our  care  upon  God.  May  Christ  Jesus,  our  dear  Saviour, 
who  loves  and  pities  you  infinitely  more  than  any  of  us  do,  be 
very  near  you  in  this  season  of  suspense.  I  would  gladly  ex- 
change positions  with  you  if  I  might,  and  if  it  were  best ;  but 
as  I  may  not,  and  it  is  not  best,  because  God  wills  otherwise,  T 
earnestly  commend  you  to  His  tender  sympathy.  If  He  means 
that  you  shall  be  restored  to  health,  He  will  make  3^ou  happy 
in  living  ;  if  He  means  to  call  you  home  to  Himself,  He  will 
make  you  happy  in  dying.  Dear  Anna,  stay  yourself  on  Him  : 
He  has  strength  enough  to  support  3"ou,  when  ail  other  strength 
fails.     Remember,  as  Lizzy  Smith  said,  you  are  "  encompassed 

with  prayers." 

Friday  Afternoon. 

My  Dear  Anna  : — I  send  you  a  "lullaby"  for  next  Sunday, 
which  I  met  with  at  Dorset,  and  hope  it  will  speak  a  little  word 
and  sing  a  little  song  to  you  while  the  rest  are  at  church.  How 
I  do  wish  I  could  see  you  every  day  !  I  feel  restless  with  long- 
ing ;  but  you  are  hardly  able  to  take  any  comfort  in  a  long 
visit  and  it  is  such  a  journey  to  make  for  a  short  one  !  But,  as 
I  said  the  other  day,  if  at  any  time  you  feel  a  little  stronger 
and  it  would  comfort  you  even  a  little  bit  to  see  me,  I  will 
drop  everything  and  run  right  over.  It  seems  hard  to  h.ave  you 
suffer  so  and  do  nothing  for  you.  But  don't  be  discouraged 
pain  can't  last  forever. 

"  I  know  not  the  way  I  am  going 
But  well  do  I  know  my  Guide  ! 
With  a  childlike  trust  I  give  my  hand. 
To  the  mighty  Friend  at  my  side. 
The  only  thing  that  I  say  to  Him 
As  He  takes  it,  is,  '  Hold  it  fast. 
Suffer  me  not  to  lose  my  way. 
And  bring  me  home  at  last ! '  " 

My  Dear  Anna  : — I  feel  such  tender  love  and  pity  for  you 
but  I  know  you  are  too  sick  to  read  more  than  a  few  words. 


A    DAUCFITKR    OF   CONSOTw.TION.  2$! 

"  In  the  furnace  God  may  prove  thee, 
Thence  to  bring  thee  forth  more  bright 
But  can  never  cease  to  love  thee  ; 
Thou  art  precious  in  His  sight !  " 

Your  ever  affectionate  Lizzy, 

We  got  home  safely  last  evening  before  any  of  the  children 
had  sfone  to  bed,  and  they  all  came  runnini^:  to  meet 

To  Mrs.  ,  ^ 

Leonard  US  most  joyfully.  This  morning  I  am  restless  and  can 
3o,?S68.  ^'^t  set  about  anything.  It  distresses  me  to  think  how 
little  human  friendship  can  do  for  such  a  sorrow  as 
yours.  When  a  sufferer  is  on  the  rack  he  cares  little  for  what 
is  said  to  him,  though  he  may  feel  grateful  for  sympath}-.  I 
found  it  hard  to  tear  myself  away  from  you  so  soon,  but  all  I 
could  do  for  you  there  I  could  do  all  along  the  way  home  and 
since  I  have  got  here  :  love  you,  be  sorry  for  you,  and  con- 
stantly pray  for  you.  1  am  sure  that  He  who  has  so  sorely 
afflicted  you  accepts  the  patience  with  which  you  bear  the  rod, 
and  that  when  this  first  terrible  amazement  and  bewilderment 
are  over,  and  you  can  enter  into  communion  and  fellowship 
with  Him,  you  will  find  a  joy  in  Him  that,  hard  as  it  is  to  the 
llesh  to  say  so,  transcends  all  the  sweetest  and  best  joys  of 
human  life.  You  will  have  nothing  to  do  now  but  to  tly  to 
Him.  I  have  seen  the  time  when  I  could  hide  myself  in  Him 
as  a  little  child  hides  in  its  mother's  arms,  and  so  have  thou- 
sands of  aching  hearts.  In  all  our  afflictions  He  is  afflicted. 
But  I  must  not  weary  you  with  words.  May  God  bless  and 
keep  you,  and  fully  reveal  Himself  unto  you  ! 

I  have  been  lying  on  the  sofa  in  my  room,  half  asleep,  and 

feeling  rather  guilty  at  the  lot  of  gas  I  was  wasting, 

A  ivamer,  but  too  lazy  or  too  tired  to  get  up  to  turn  it  down. 

'"^  ^rj 'T'^' Your  little  "spray"  hangs  right  over  the  head  of  my 

i86S.  befj^  and  as  it  was  slightly  dilapidated  by  its  journey 
hither,  I  have  tucked  in  a  bit  of  green  fern  with  it  to  remind 
nie  that  I  was  not  always  in  the  sere  and  yellow  leaf,  but  had 
a  spring-time  once.  To  think  of  your  going  for  to  go  and 
write  verses  to  me  in  my  old  age  !  I  have  just  been  reading 
them  over  and  think  it  was  real  good  of  you  to  up  and  say 
such  nice  things  in  such  a  nice  way.  I'd  no  idea  you  could ! 
We  did  not  come  home  from  Rochester  through  Boston  ;  if  we 


252  THE    LIFE    OF    MRS.    PRENTISS. 

had  done  so  I  meant  to  go  and  see  you.  I  made  it  up  in  manj 
.oving  thoughts  to  you  on  our  twelve  hours'  journey.  Pooi 
Mrs.  L.  met  me  with  open  arms,  and  I  w^as  thankful  indeed 
that  I  w^ent,  though  every  word  I  said  in  the  presence  of  ler 
terrible  grief,  sounded  flat  and  cold  and  dead.  How  little  the 
(enderest  love  and  sympath}^  can  do,  in  such  sorrows  !  She 
was  so  bewildered  and  appalled  by  her  sudden  bereavement, 
that  it  was  almost  a  mockery  to  say  a  w^ord  ;  and  yet  I  kept 
saying  what  I  know  is  true,  that  Christ  in  the  soul  is  better 
than  any  earthly  joy.  Both  Mr.  Prentiss  and  myself  feel  the 
reaction  which  must  inevitably  follow  such  a  strain. 

You  ask  if  I  look  over  the  past  on  my  birthdays.  I  suppose 
I  used  to  do  it  and  feel  dreadfully  at  the  pitiful  review,  but 
since  I  have  had  the  children's  to  celebrate,  I  haven't  thought 
much  of  mine.  But  this  time,  being  fifty  years  old,  did  set  me 
upon  thinking,  and  I  had  so  many  mercies  to  recount  and  to 
thank  God  for,  that  I  hardly  felt  pangs  of  any  sort,  I  suppose 
He  controls  our  moods  in  such  seasons,  and  I  have  done  trying 
to  force  myself  into  this  or  that  train  of  thought.  I  am  sure 
that  a  good  deal  of  what  used  to  seem  like  repentance  and  sor- 
row for  sin  on  such  occasions,  was  really  nothing  but  wounded 
pride  that  wished  it  could  appear  better  in  its  own  eyes.  God 
has  been  so  good  to  me  !  I  wish  I  could  begin  to  realise  how 
good  !  I  think  a  great  many  thoughts  to  you  that  I  can't  put 
on  paper.  Life  seems  teaching  some  new,  or  deepening  the 
impression  of  some  old,  lesson,  all  the  time. 

You  think  A.  may  have  looked  scornfully  at  your  little 
''spray."  Well,  she  didn't  ;  she  said,  "What's  that  funny  little 
thing  perched   up   there  ?     Well,  it's  pretty  anyhow."     Among 

the  rush  of  visitors  to-day  were  Miss  Haines  and  the  W s. 

I  fell  upon  Miss  W.  and  told  her  about  you,  furiously  ;  then  we 
got  upon  Miss  Lyman,  and  it  did  my  very  soul  good  to  hear 
Miss  Haines  praise  and  magnify  her.  Never  shall  I  cease  to 
be  thankful  for  being  with  her  at  Dorset,  to  say  nothing,  dear, 
of  you  !  Do  you  know  that  there  are  twelve  cases  of  typhoid 
fever  at  Vassar  ?  and  that  Miss  Lyman  is  not  as  well  as  she 
was?  I  feel  greatly  concerned  about  her,  not  to  say  troubled. 
I  don't  suppose  I  shall  ever  hear  her  pray.  But  I  shall  hear 
her  and  help  her  praise.  I  don't  believe  a  word  about  there 
being  different  grades  of  saints  in  heaven      Some  people  think 


A   DAUGHTER   OF   CONSOLATION.  253 

it  modest  to  say  that  they  don't  expect  to  get  anywhere  neai 
so  and  so,  they  are  so — etc.,  etc.  But  I  expect  to  be  mixed  all 
up  with  the  saints,  and  to  take  perfect  delight  in  their  testi 
m(my  to  my  Saviour. 

Can  you  put  up  with  this  miserable  letter?  Folks  can  I 
rush  to  Newark  and  to  Rochester  and  agonise  in  every  nerve 
at  the  sufferings  of  others,  and  be  quite  coherent.  I  have  sense 
enough  left  tu  know  that  I  love  you  dearly,  and  that  I  long  to 
see  you  and  to  take  sweet  counsel  with  you  once  more.  Don't 
fail  to  give  me  the  helping  hand. 

The  following  was  written  to  Mrs.  Stearns  on  her  silver- 
wedding  day,  Nov.  15  : 

My  Dearest  Anna  :  I  have  thought  of  you  all  day  with 
the  tenderest  sympathy,  knowing  how  you  had  looked  forward 
to  it,  and  what  a  contrast  it  offers  to  your  bridal  day  tw^enty- 
five  years  ago.  But  I  hope  it  has  not  been  wholly  sad.  You 
have  a  rich  past  that  can  not  be  taken  from  you,  and  a  richer 
future  lies  before  you.  For  I  can  see,  though  through,  your 
tears  you  can  not,  that  the  Son  of  God  walks  with  you  in  this 
furnace  of  affliction,  and  that  He  is  so  sanctifying  it  to  your 
soul,  that  ages  hence  you  will  look  on  this  day  as  better, 
sweeter,  than  the  day  of  your  espousals.  It  is  hard  now  to 
suffer,  but  after  all,  the  light  affliction  is  nothing,  and  the  lucight 
of  glory  is  everything.  You  may  not  fully  realise  this  or  any 
other  truth,  in  your  enfeebled  state,  but  truth  remains  the  same 
v^diether  we  appreciate  it  or  not  ;  and  so  does  Christ.  Your 
despondency  does  not  prove  that  He  is  not  just  as  near  to  you 
as  He  is  to  those  who  see  Him  more  clearly  ;  and  it  is  better  to 
be  despondent  than  to  be  self-righteous.  Don't  you  see  that 
in  afflicting  you  He  means  to  prove  to  you  that  He  loves  you^ 
and  that  you  love  Him?  Don't  you  remember  that  it  is  His 
son — not  His  enemy — that  He  scourgeth  ? 

The  greatest  saint  on  earth  has  got  to  reach  heaven  on  the 
same  terms  as  the  greatest  sinner  ;  unworthy,  unfit,  good-for- 
nothing  ;  but  saved  through  grace.  Do  cheer  and  comfort 
yourself  with  these  thoughts,  my  dearest  Anna,  and  your  sick- 
room will  he  the  happiest  room  in  your  house,  as  I  constantl> 
pray  it  m.ay  be  !     Your  ever  affectionate  Lizzy. 


254  'i'^^^    LIFE    ()1     MRS.    I'RENTISS. 

You  ask  how  I  sleep.     I  always  sleep  better  at  home  than 

elsewhere  ;  this  is  one  great  reason  why  we  decided 

E.  A.  w.,  to  have  a  home  all  the  year  round.     I  have  to  walk 

^^ToJ°\-'^''  ^^^^  ^^  ^'^'^^  miles  a  day,  which  takes  a  good  dec  I  oi 

iS6S.  time,  these  short  days,  but  there  is  no  help  for  it.  1 
do  not  think  the  time  is  lost  when  I  am  out  of  doors  ;  I  sup- 
pose Christ  may  go  with  us,  does  go  with  us,  wherever  we  ^o. 
But  I  am  too  eager  and  vehement,  too  anxious  to  be  working 
all  the  time.  Why,  no,  I  don't  think  it  wrong  to  want  to  be  at 
work  provided  God  gives  us  strength  for  work  ;  the  great  thing 
is  not  to  repine  when  He  disables  us.  I  don't  think,  my  dear, 
that  you  need  trouble  yourself  about  my  dying  at  present  ;  it 
is  not  at  all  likely  that  I  shall.  I  feel  as  if  I  had  got  to  be 
tested  yet ;  this  sweet  ^eace,  of  which  1  have  so  much,  almost 
startles  me.  I  keep  asking  myself  whether  it  is  not  a  stupen- 
dous delusion  of  Satan  and  my  own  wicked  heart.  How  I  wish 
I  could  see  you  to-night !  There  is  so  much  one  does  not  like 
to  put  on  paper  that  one  would  love  to  say. 

Thursday,  4  P.M. — Well,  my  lunch-party  is  over,  and  m)' 
sewing  society  is  re-organised,  and  before  I  go  forth  to  tea,  let 
me  finish  and  send  off  this  epistle.  We  had  the  Rev.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Washburn,  of  Constantinople,  Dr.  Chickering,  and  Prof,  and 
Mrs.  Smith  ;  gave  them  cold  turkey,  cold  ham,  cold  ice-cream 
and  hot  coffee  ;  that  was  about  all,  for  society  in  New  York  is 
just  about  reduced  down  to  eating  and  drinking  together,  after 
which  you  go  about  3'our  business. 

I  am  re-reading  Leighton  on  ist  Peter;  I  wonder  if  you 
like  it  as  much  as  my  John  and  I  do  !  I  hope  your  murderous 
book  goes  on  well  ;  then  you  can  take  your  rest  next  summ,er. 
Now  I  must  get  ready  for  my  long  walk  down  and  over  to  Ninth 
St.,  to  see  a  tiny  little  woman,  and  English  at  that.  Her  prayer 
at  our  meeting  yesterday  moved  us  all  to  tears. 

Mr.  Prentiss  complained  yesterday  that  no  letters  came,  an 
To  Miss  unheard-of  event  in  our  family  history,  and  this  morn- 
Fiiza  A.    ing  found  twelve  sticking  in  the  top  of  the  box  ;  among 

learner,       .  y  -r  •  •  n- 

Nezo  York,  thcm   was    yours,   but    1   was    just    gomg    off    1;o    my 
^'i86S^^'    prayer-meeting,  and  had  to  put  it  into  my  pocket  and 
let  it  go  too.     I  am  glad  you  sent  me  Mrs.  Field's  let- 
ter and   poem  ;  she   is  a  genius,  and  writes  beautifully.     And 


A   DAUGHTER   OF   CONSOLATION.  255 

how  glad  you  must  be  to  hear  about  your  books.  I  can't  imag- 
ine what  better  work  you  want  than  writing.  In  what  othei 
way  could  you  reach  so  many  minds  and  hearts  ?  You  must 
always  send  me  such  letters.  Before  I  forget  it,  let  me  tell  yoi; 
of  a  real  Thanksgiving  present  we  have  just  had  ;  three  baj 
rcis  of  potatoes,  some  apples,  some  dried  apples,  cranbcriic.^., 
celery,  canned  corn,  canned  strawberries,  and  two  big  chickens 
After  c/ui?'ch,  Thursday. — I  must  indulge  myself  with  goin- 
on  with  my  letter,  for  after  dinner  I  want  to  play  with  the 
children,  and  make  this  day  mean  something  to  them  besides 
pies.  For  everybody  spoke  for  pies  this  year  (you  know  we 
almost  never  make  such  sinful  things)  and  they  all  said  ice- 
cream wouldn't  do  at  all,  so  ^^esterday  I  made  fourteen  of  these 
enormities,  and  mean  to  stuff  them  (the  children,  not  the  pies  !) 
so  that  they  w^on't  want  any  more  for  a  year.  I  want  to  tell 
you  about  some  pretty  coincidences  ;  we  went  to  church  in  a 
dismal  rain,  and  Mr.  Prentiss  preached  on  the  beauty  of  holi- 
ness, and  every  time  he  said  anything  that  made  sunshine  par- 
ticularly appropriate,  the  sun  came  in  in  floods,  then  disap- 
peared till  the  next  occasion.  For  instance,  he  spoke  of  the 
sunshine  of  a  happy  home  as  so  much  brighter  than  that  of  the 
natural  sun,  and  the  whole  church  was  instantly  illuminated  ; 
then  he  said  that  if  we  had  each  come  there  with  ten  million 
sorrows,  Christ  could  give  us  light,  when,  lo,  the  church  glowed 
again  ;  and  so  on  half-a-dozen  times,  till  at  last  he  quoted  the 
verse  ^^  And  the  Lamb  is  the  light  thereof^''  when  a  perfect  blaze  of 
effulgence  made  those  mysterious  words  almost  startling.  And 
then  he  wound  up  by  describing  the  Tyrolesc  custom  on  which 
Mrs.  Field's  poem  is  founded,  which  he  had  himself  seen  and 
enjoyed,  and  of  which,  it  seems,  he  spoke  at  East  Dorset  last 
summer  at  the  Sunday-school.'     I  read  the  poem  and  letter  to 

'  The  custom  related  to  a  pious  salutation,  with  which  two  friends,  or  even  stranjicrs, 
gieet  each  other,  when  meeting  on  the  mountain  highways  and  passes  in  certain  dihtricli 
3l  Tyrol,  "  Gelubt  set  Jesu  Christ'!''  cries  one  ;  "  hi  Ewigkeit,  Amen!''  answers  ihr 
other,  (i.  e.,  "  Praised  be  Jesus  Christ !  "  "  For  evermore,  Amen  !  ")  The  following  liro: 
Ut-;  from  Mrs.  F.'s  poem  : 

"When  the  poor  peas.int,  alpenstock  in  h.ind, 
Toils  up  the  steep, 
And  finds  a  friend  upon  tlie  dizzy  height 
Amid  his  sheep, 

"  They  do  not  greet  each  other  as  in  our 
Kind  English  way, 


256  THE   LIFE    OF    MRS.    PRENTISS. 

him  the  instant  we  got  home,  and  he  admired  them  both.  It 
was  a  little  singular  that  her  poem  and  his  sermon  came  to  me 
at  almost  the  identical  moment,  wasn't  it  ? 

I  must  tell  you  about  an  old  ladies'  party  given  by  Mrs. 
Cummings,  w4fe  of  him  who  prepared  my  father's  memoir.' 
She  had  had  a  fortune  left  to  her  and  was  all  the  time  doing 
gDod  with  it,  and  it  entered  her  head  to  get  up  a  very  nice  sup- 
per for  twenty-six  old  ladies,  the  youngest  of  whom  was  seventy- 
five  (the  Portland  people  rarely  die  till  they're  ninety  or  so). 
She  sent  carriages  for  all  who  couldn't  walk,  and  when  they 
all  got  together,  the  lady  who  described  the  scene  to  me,  said 
it  was  indescribably  beautiful,  all  congratulating  each  other 
that  they  were  so  far  on  in  their  pilgrimage  and  so  near  heav- 
en !  Lovely,  wasn't  it  ?  I  wish  I  could  spend  the  rest  of  my 
ife  with  such  people  !  Then  she  spoke  of  Mrs.  C.'s  face  dur 
ing  the  last  six  months  of  her  life,  when  it  had  an  expression 
so  blest,  so  seraphic,  that  it  was  a  delight  to  look  upon  it — and 
how  she  had  all  the  members  of  the  ladies'  prayer-meeting 
come  and  kiss  her  good-bye  after  she  was  too  weak  to  speak. 

And  now  the  children  have  got  together  again,  and  I  must 
go  and  stay  with  them  till  their  bed-time,  when,  partly  for  the 
sake  of  the  walk,  partly  because  they  asked  us,  we  tw^ain  are 
going  to  see  the  Smiths.  I  rather  think,  my  dear,  that  if,  aL 
you  say,  you  could  see  all  my  thoughts,  you  would  drop  me  as 
you  would  a  hot  potato.  You  would  see  many  good  thoughts^ 
I  won't  deny  that,  and  some  loving  ones  ;  but  you  would  also 
see  an  abominable  lot  of  elated,  conceited,  horrid  ones  ;  self- 
laudation  even  at  good  planned  to  do,  and  admired  before 
done.  But  God  can  endure  what  no  mortal  eye  could  ;  He  does 
not  love  I  s  because  we  are  so  lovely,  but  because  He  always 

Ask  not  for  health,  nor  wish  in  cheerful  phrase 
A  prosperous  day  ; 

"  Infinite  thoughts  alone  spring  up  in  that 
Great  solitude, 
Nothing  seems  worthy  or  significant 
But  heavenly  good  ; 

'*  So  in  this  reverent  and  sacred  form 

Their  souls  outpour, — 
"  Blessed  be  Jesus  Christ's  most  holy  name  ! ' 

'  For  evermore  ! '  " 

>  Rev.  Asa  Cumming^s,  D.D.,  of  Portland,  for  many  years  editor  of  the  ChristiAr 
Mirror ;  one  of  the  weightiest,  wisest  and  best  men  of  his  generation. 


A   DAUGHTER   OF   CONSOLATION.  257 

loves  what  He  pities.  I  fall  back  upon  this  thought  whenever 
I  feel  discouraged  ;  I  was  going  to  say  sad,  but  that  isn't  the 
word,  for  I  never  do  feel  sad  except  when  I've  been  eating 
something  I'd  no  business  to  !     Good-bye,  dearie. 

I  think  I  must  indulge  myself,  n.y  dear,  in  writing  to  you 

to-night,  it  being  really  the  only  thing  I  want  to  do. 

Same  Xew  unless  it  be  to  lie  half  asleep  on  the  sofa.     And  that  I 

^'^^^iPcf^'  can't  do,  for  there's  no  sofa  in  the  room  !     The  cold 
3, 1S6S.  ' 

weather  has  made  it  agreeable  to  have  a  nre  m  the 

dining-room  grate,  and  this  makes  it  a  cheerful  resort  for  the 
children,  especially  as  the  long  table  is  very  convenient  for 
their  books,  map-drawing,  etc.  And  wherever  the  rest  are  the 
mother  must  be  ;  I  suppose  that  is  the  law  of  a  happy  family, 
in  the  winter  at  least.  The  reason  I  am  so  tired  to-night  is 
that  I  have  been  unexpectedly  to  Newark.  I  went,  as  soon  as 
I  could  after  breakfast,  to  market,  and  then  on  a  walk  of  over 
two  miles  to  prepare  myself  for  our  sewing-circle  !  I  met  our 
sexton  as  I  was  coming  home,  and  asked  him  to  see  what  ailed 
one  of  the  drawers  of  my  desk  that  wouldn't  shut.  We  had  a 
terrible  time  with  it,  and  I  had  to  take  everything  out,  and 
turn  my  desk  topsy-turvy,  and  your  letters  and  all  my  other 
papers  got  raving  distracted,  and  all  mixed  up  with  bits  of 
sealing-wax,  old  pens,  and  dear  knows  what  not,  when  down 
comes  A.  from  the  school-room,  to  say  that  Mrs.  Stearns  had 
sent  for  me  to  come  right  out,  thinking  she  was  dying.  I  knew 
nothing  about  the  trains,  always  trusting  to  Mr.  Prentiss  about 
that,  but  in  five  minutes  I  was  off,  and  on  reaching  the  depot 
found  I  had  lost  a  train  by  ten  minutes,  and  that  thert 
wouldn't  be  another  for  an  hour.  Then  I  had  leisure  to  re- 
member that  Mr.  P.  was  to  get  home  from  Dorset,  that  I  had 
left  no  message  for  him,  had  hid  away  all  the  letters  that  had 
come  in  his  absence,  where  he  couldn't  find  them  ;  that  if  it 
was  necessary  for  me  to  stay  at  Newark  all  night  he  would  be 
dreadfully  frightened,  etc.,  etc.  Somehow  I  felt  very  blue,  but 
at  last  concluded  to  get  rid  of  a  part  of  the  time  by  hunting  up 
some  dinner  at  a  restaurant. 

When   I  at  last  got  to  Newark,  I   found  that  Mrs.  Stearns' 
disease  had  suddenly  developed  several  unfavorable  symptoms. 
She  had  made  up  her  mind  that  all  hope  was  over,  had   taki-n 
17 


258  THE    LIFE    OF    MRS.    PRENTISS. 

leave  of  her  family,  and  now  wanted  to  bid  me  good-bye.  She 
held  my  hands  fast  in  both  hers,  begging  me  to  talk.  I  spoke 
freely  to  her  about  her  death  ;  she  pointed  up  once  to  an  illu 
mination  I  gave  her  last  spring  :  simply  to  thy  cross  i  cling 
"That,"  she  said,  "is  all  I  can  do."  I  said  all  I  could  to  com 
fort  her,  but,  I  do  not  know  whether  God  gave  me  the  right 
word  or  not. 

'  On  my  return,  as  I  got  out  of  the  stage  near  the  corner  ol 
our  street,  whom  should  my  weary  eyes  light  on  but  my 
dear  good  man,  just  got  home  from  Dorset ;  how  surprised  and 
delighted  we  were  to  meet  so  unexpectedly  !  M.  rushed  to 
meet  us,  and  afterward  said  to  me,  "I  have  three  great  reliefs  ; 
you  have  got  home  ;  papa  has  got  home  ;  and  Aunt  Anna  is 
still  alive,"  My  children  were  never  so  lovely  and  loving  as  they 
are  this  winter  ;  my  home  is  almost  too  luxurious  and  happy  ; 
such  things  don't  belong  to  this  world.  We  have  just  heard 
of  the  death  in  Switzerland  of  Mr.  Prentiss'  successor  at  New 
Bedford,  classmate  of  one  of  my  brothers,  and  some  one  has 
sent  a  plaintive,  sweet  little  dying  song  written  at  Florence  by 
him.     Now  T  am  too  fagged  to  say  another  word. 

Dec.  4th.— I  do  not  get  a7iy  time  to  write  ;  each  day  brings 
its  own  special  work  that  can't  be  done  to-morrow  ;  as  to  let- 
ters, I  scratch  them  off  at  odd  moments,  when  too  tired  to  do 
anything  else.  What  a  resource  they  are  !  They  do  instead  of 
crying  for  me.  And  how  many  I  get  every  week  that  are  lov- 
ing and  pleasant  ! 

What  do  you  think  of  this  ?  I  hope  it  will  make  you  laugh 
— a  lady  told  me  she  never  confessed  her  sins  aloud  (in  prayer) 
lest  Satan  should  find  out  her  weak  points  and  tempt  her  more 
effectually  I  And  I  want  to  ask  you  if  you  ever  offer  to  pray  with 
people  ?  I  never  do,  and  yet  there  are  cases  when  nothing  else 
seems  to  answer.  Oh,  how  many  questions  of  duty  come  up 
every  hour,  and  how  many  reasons  we  have  every  hour  to  1)6 
ashamed  of  ourselves  ! 

Monday  morning. — It  was  a  shame  to  write  to  you,  when  I 
was  so  tired  that  I  could  not  write  legibly,  but  my  heart  was 
full  of  love,  and  I  longed  to  be  near  you.  Now  Monday  has 
come,  a  lowering,  forbidding  day,  yet  all  is  sunshine  in  my 
soul,  and  I  hope  that  may  make  my  home  light  to  my  beloved 
ones,  and   even   reach   you,  wherever  vou  are.     I  am  going  to 


A   DAUGHTER   OF   CONSOLATION. 


259 


run  out  to  see  how  Mrs.  Stearns  is.  Our  plan  is  for  me  to  make 
arrangements  to  stay  with  her,  if  I  can  be  of  any  use  or  com- 
fort. I  literally  love  the  house  of  mourning  better  than  the 
liouse  of  feasting.  All  my  long,  long  years  of  suffering  and 
sorrow  make  sorrow-stricken  homes  homelike,  and  I  can  not 
but  feel,  because  I  know  it  from  experience,  that  Christ  loves 
to  be  in  such  homes.  So  you  may  congratulate  me,  dear,  if  I 
may  be  permitted  to  go  where  He  goes.  I  wish  you  could 
have  heard  yesterday's  sermon  about  God's  having  as  charac- 
teristic^ individual  a  love  to  each  of  us  as  we  have  to  our  friends. 
Think  of  that,  dear,  when  you  remember  how  I  loved  you  in 
Mrs.  G.'s  little  parlor  !  Can  you  realise  that  your  Lord  and 
Saviour  loves  you  inlinitely  more?  I  confess  that  such  concep- 
tions are  hard  to  attain Can't  you  do  M S up  in 

your  next  letter,  and  send  her  to  me  on  approbation  ?  Instead 
of  being  satisfied  that  I've  got  you,  I  want  her  and  everybody 
else  who  is  really  good,  to  fill  up  some  of  the  empty  ruoms  in 
my  heart.  This  is  a  rambling,  scrambling  letter,  but  I  don't, 
care,  and  don't  believe  you  do.  Well,  good-bye  ;  thank  your 
stars  that  this  bit  of  paper  hasn't  got  any  arms  and  can't  hug 
you  ! 

There   is   half  an  hour  before    bed-time,  and   I  have   been 

To  Mrs.    thinking  of  and  praying  for  you,  till  I  feel  that  I  runs. 

Leonard,    xvrite.     I    forp-ot   to   tell   you,   how   the   verses    in    my 

New  }or&,  ^  -^        ' 

Dec.  13,    Daily  Food,  on  the  day  of  your  dear  husband's  death, 

1868.  ^     r 

seem  meant  tor  you  : 

••  Thou  art  niy  refuge  and  poriiniu" — Ps.  cxliii.  5. 

'Tis  God  tliat  lifts  our  comforts  high, 

Or  sinks  them  in  the  grave  ; 
He  gives,  and  blessed  be  His  name  I 

He  takes  but  what  He  gave. 

The  Lord  gave  and  the  Lord  hath  taken  away. — JOB  i.  21. 

I  have  had  this  little  book  thirty-three  years,  it  has  travelled 
with  me  wherever  I  have  been,  and  it  has  been  indeed  my  song 
in  the  house  of  my  pilgrimage.  This  has  been  our  comnmnion 
Sunday,  and  I  have  been  very  glad  of  the  rest  and  peace  it  lias 
afforded,  for  I  have  done  little  during  the  last  ten  days  but  fly 
from  one  scene  of  sorrow  to  another,  from  here  to  Newark  and 
from  Newark  to  Brooklvn So  I  have  alternated  betweca 


26o  THE    LIFE   OF   MRS.    PFFNTISS. 

the  two  dyiTig  beds  ;  yesterday  Jennie  P.  went  into  a  convul 
sion  just  as  I  entered  the  room,  and  did  not  fully  come  out  ol 
it  for  an  hour  and  a  half,  when  I  had  to  come  away  in  order 
to  get  home  before  pitch  dark.  What  a  terrible  sight  it  is  , 
They  use  chloroform,  and  that  has  a  very  marked  effect,  con- 
trolling all  violence  in  a  few  seconds.  Whether  the  poor  child 
came  out  of  that  attack  alive  I  do  not  know  ;  I  had  no  doubt 
she  was  dying  till  just  before  I  came  away,  when  she  appeared 
easier,  though  still  unconscious.  The  family  seem  nearly  fran- 
tic, and  the  sisters  are  so  upset  by  witnessing  these  turns,  that 
I  shall  feel  that  I  must  be  there  all  I  can.  I  am  in  cruel  doubt 
which  household  to  go  to,  but  hope  God  will  direct. 

Mr.  Prentiss  is  a  good  deal  withered  and  worn  by  his  sister's 
state  ;  he  had  never,  by  any  means,  ceased  to  hope,  and  he  is 
much  afflicted.  She  and  Jennie  may  live  a  week  or  more,  or  go 
at  any  moment.  In  my  long  hours  of  silent  musing  and  prayer, 
as  I  go  from  place  to  place,  I  think  often  of  you.  I  think  one 
reason  why  w^e  do  not  get  all  the  love  and  faith  we  sigh  for  is  that 
we  try  to  force  them  to  come  to  us,  instead  of  realising  that 

they  must  be  God's  free  gifts,  to  be  won  by  prayer And 

now  Mr.  P.  has  come  up-stairs  rolled  up  in  your  afghan,  and 
we  have  decided  to  go  to  both  Newark  and  Brooklyn  to-mor- 
row, so  I  know  I  ought  to  go  to  bed.  You  must  take  this  letter 
as  a  great  proof  of  my  love  to  you,  though  it  does  not  say 
much,  for  I  am  bewildered  by  the  scenes  through  which  I  am 
passing,  and  hardly  lU  therefore  to  write.  What  I  do  not  say 
I  truly  feel,  real,  deep,  constant  sympathy  with  you  in  youi 
sor:ovv  and  loneliness.     May  God  bless  you  in  it. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

STEPPING   HEAVENWARD. 

1869. 

I. 

Death  of  Mrs.  Stearns.  Her  Character.  Dangerous  Illness  of  Prof.  Smith.  Death  at 
the  Parsonage.  Letters.  A  Visit  to  Vassar  College.  Letters.  Getting  ready  foi 
General  Assembly.     "  Gates  Ajar." 

A  LITTLE  past  three  o'clock  on  Saturday  afternoon,  Janu- 
ary 2,  1869,  Anna  S.  Prentiss,  wife  of  the  Rev.  Jonathan  F. 
Stearns,  D.D.,  fell  asleep  in  Jesus.  The  precedinf,^  pages  show 
what  strong  ties  bound  Mrs.  Prentiss  to  this  beloved  sister 
Their  friendship  dated  back  thirty  years  ;  it  was  cemented  by 
common  joys  and  common  sorrows  in  some  of  their  deepest 
experiences  of  life ;  and  it  had  been  kept  fresh  and  sweet  by 
frequent  intercourse  and  correspondence.  Mrs.  Stearns  was  a 
woman  of  uncommon  attractions  and  energy  of  character. 
She  impressed  herself  strongly  upon  all  who  came  within  the 
sphere  of  her  influence  ;  the  hearts  of  her  husband's  people, 
as  well  as  his  own  and  those  of  her  children,  trusted  in  her  ; 
and  the  whole  community  where  she  dwelt  mourned  her  loss. 
She  had  been  especially  endeared  to  her  brother  Seargcnt, 
with  whom  she  spent  several  winters  in  the  South  prior  to  her 
marriage.  Her  influence  over  him,  at  a  critical  period  of  his 
life,  was  alike  potent  and  happy;  their  relation  to  each  otlicr 
Avas,  in  truth,  full  of  the  elements  of  romance;  and  some  of 
his  letters  to  her  are  exquisite  effusions  of  fraternal  confidence 
and  affection.'  Her  letters  to  him,  beginning  when  she  was  a 
young  girl  and  ending  only  with  his  life,  would  form  a  large 

1  See  Memoir  0/  S.  S.  Pre7itiss,  edited  by  his  Brother,  and  published  by  Charles 
Scribner's  Sons.     New  Edition.     1879. 

(261; 


262  THE   LTFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

volume.  "You  excel  any  one  I  know,"  he  wrote  to  her,  "in 
the  kind  and  gentle  art  of  letter-writing."  In  the  midst  ol 
his  early  professional  triumphs  he  writes : 

You  do  not  know  what  obligations  I  am  under  to  you  ;  I  owe  all  my 
success  in  this  country  to  the  fact  of  having  so  kind  a  mother  and  such 
sweet  affectionate  sisters  as  Abby  and  yourself.  It  has  been  my  only  mo- 
tive to  exertion ;  without  it  I  should  long  since  have  thrown  myself  away. 
Even  now,  when,  as  is  frequently  the  case,  I  feel  perfectly  reckless  both  of 
life  and  fortune,  and  look  with  contempt  upon  them  both,  the  recollection 
that  there  are  two  or  three  hearts  that  beat  for  me  with  real  affection,  even 
though  far  away — comes  over  me  as  the  music  of  David  did  over  the  dark 
spirit  of  Saul.     I  still  feel  that  I  have  something  worth  living  for. 

For  years  her  letters  helped  to  cherish  and  deepen  this 
feeling.     He  thus  refers  to  one  of  them  : 

I  can  not  tell  how  much  I  thank  you  for  it.  I  cried  like  a  child  while 
reading  it,  and  even  now  the  tears  stand  in  my  eyes,  as  I  think  of  its  ex- 
pressions of  affection,  sympathy,  and  good  sense I  wish  you  were 

here  now— oh,  how  I  do  wish  it !  But  you  will  come  next  fall,  won't  you.'' 
and  be  to  me 

The  antelope  whose  feet  shall  bless 

With  her  light  step  my  loneliness. 

But  my  candle  burns  low,  and  it  is  past  the  witching  hour  of  night. 
Whether  sleeping  or  waking,  God  bless  you  and  our  dear  mother,  and  all 
of  you.     Good-night — good-night.     My  love  loads  this  last  line. 

To  Mrs.  Prentiss  and  her  husband,  the  death  of  Mrs. 
Stearns  was  an  irreparable  loss.  It  took  out  of  their  life  one 
of  its  greatest  earthly  blessings. 

The  new  year  opened  with  another  painful  shock — the 
sudden  and  dangerous  illness  of  her  husband's  bosom  friend, 
Henry  Boynton  Smith.  Prof.  Smith  was  to  have  made  one 
of  the  addresses  at  the  funeral  of  Mrs.  Stearns  ;  but  instead 
of  doing  so,  he  was  obliged  to  take  to  his  bed,  and.  soon  after- 
wards, to  flee  for  his  life  beyond  the  sea.  To  this  affliction 
the  reader  is  indebted  for  the  letters  to  Mrs.  Smith,  contained 
in  this  chapter.  On  the  i6th  of  February  another  niece  of 
her  husband,  a  sweet  child  of  seventeen,  was  brought  to  the 
parsonage   very   ill   and   died    there   before   the   close   of    the 


STEPPING    HEyWENWARD.  263 

raonth.     Her  letters  will  show  how  she  was  affected  by  these 
troubles. 

So  many  unanswered  letters  lie  piled  on  my  desk  that  1 
T  Mrs    hardly  know  which  to  take  up  first,  but  my  heart 
Leo7iard,  yearns  ovcr  you,  and  I  can  not  help  writing  you.     No 
Jan.  9,  '  wonder  you  grow  sadder  as  time  passes  and  the  beloved 
^^^9*      one  comes  not,  and  comes  not.     I  wish  I  could  help 
you  bear  your  burden,  but  all  I  can  do  is  to  be  sorry  for  you. 
The  peaceable  fruits  of  sorrow  do  not  ripen  at  once  ;  there  is 
a  long  time  of  weariness  and  heaviness  while  this  process  is  go- 
ing on  ;  but  I  do  not,  will  not  doubt,  that  you  will  taste  these 
fruits,  and  fmd  them  very  sweet.    One  of  the  hard  things  about 
bereavement  is  the  physical  prostration  and  listlessness  which 
make  it  next  to  impossible  to  pray,  and  quite  impossible  to  feel 
the  least  interest  in  anything.     We  must  bear  this  as  a  part  of 
the  pain,  believing  that  it  will  not  last  forever,  for  nothing  but 
God's  goodness  does.     How  I  wish  you  were  near  us,  and  that 
we  could  meet   and  talk  and  pray  together  over  all  that  has 
saddened  our  lives,  and  made  heaven  such  a  blessed  reality  ! 

There  is  not  much  to  tell  about  the  last  hours  of  our  dear  sis- 
ter. She  had  rallied  a  good  deal,  and  they  all  thought  she  was 
getting  well  ;  but  the  day  after  Christmas  typhoid  symptoms 
began  to  set  in.  I  saw  her  on  the  Monday  following,  found  her 
greatly  depressed,  and  did  not  stay  long.  On  Saturday  morn- 
ing, we  got  a  dispatch  we  should  have  received  early  on  New 
Year's  day,  saying  she  v/as  sinking.  We  hurried  out,  found  her 
flushed  and  bright,  but  near  her  end,  having  no  pulse  at  either 
wrist,  and  her  hands  and  feet  cold.  She  had  had  a  distressing 
day  and  night,  but  now  seemed  perfectly  easy  ;  knew  us,  gave 
us  a  glad  welcome,  reminded  me  that  I  had  promised  to  go 
with  her  to  the  end,  and  kissed  us  heartily.  Every  time  we 
went  near  her  she  gave  us  such  a  glad  smile  that  it  was  hard  m 
believe  she  was  going  so  soon.  She  talked  incessantly,  wUh 
no  signs  of  debility,  but  it  was  the  restlessness  of  apprxichiiig 
death. 

At  three  in  the  afternoon  they  all  came  into  the  room,  af 
they  always  did  at  that  hour.  She  said  a  few  things,  and  evi- 
deatly  began  to  lose  her  sight,  for  as  Lewis  was  about  to  leave 
the  room,  she  said,  "Good-night,  L.,"  and  then  to  me,  "Why 


264  THE    TIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

Lizzy  dear,  you  are  not  going  to  stay  all  night  ? "  I  said,  "  Oh 
yes,  don't  you  know  I  promised  to  stay  with  A.,  who  will  be  so 
lonely?"  She  looked  pleased,  but  greatly  surprised,  her  mind 
being  so  weak,  and  in  a  few  seconds  she  laid  her  restless  hands 
on  her  breast,  her  eyes  became  fixed,  and  the  last  gentle  breaths 
began  to  come  and  go.  "Is  the  doctor  here?"  she  asked.  We 
told  her  no,  and  then  Mr.  S.  and  the  nurse,  who  were  close 
each  side  of  her,  began  to  repeat  a  verse  or  two  of  Scripture  ; 
then  seeing  she  was  apparently  too  far  gone  to  hear,  Mr.  S. 
leaned  over  and  whispered,  "  My  darling  !  "  She  made  no  re- 
sponse, on  which  he  said,  "  She  can  make  no  response,"  and  she 
said,  "  But  I  hear,"  gave  one  or  two  more  gentle  little  breaths, 
and  was  gone.  I  forgot  to  say  that  after  her  e3^es  were  fixed, 
hearing  Mr.  S.  groan,  she  stopped  dyings  turned  and  gave  a  parting 
look  !  I  never  saw  an  easier  death,  nor  such  a  bright  face  up  to 
the  very  last.  One  of  the  doctors  coming  in,  in  the  morning,  was 
apparently  overcome  by  the  extraordinary  smile  she  gave  him,  for 
he  turned  away  immediately  without  a  word,  and  left  the  house. 
I  staid,  as  they  wished  me  to  do,  till  Monday  night,  when  I 
came  home  quite  used  up.  Your  sorrow,  and  the  sorrow  at 
Brooklyn,  and  now  this  one,  have  come  one  after  another  until 
it  seemed  as  if  there  was  no  end  to  it ;  such  is  life,  and  we  must 
bear  it  patiently,  knowing  the  end  will  be  the  more  joyful  for 
all  that  saddened  the  way. 

I  shall  always  let  you  know  if  anything  of  special  interest 
occurs  in  the  church  or  among  ourselves.  After  loving  you  so 
many  years,  I  am  not  likely  to  forget  you  now.  The  addresses 
at  Mrs.  S.'s  funeral  will  probably  be  published,  and  we  will 
send  you  a  copy.  Mr.  P.  is  bearing  up  bravely,  but  feels  the 
listlessness  of  which  I  spoke,  and  finds  sermonising  hard  work. 
He  joins  me  in  love  to  you.     Do  write  often. 

On  coming  home  from  church  on  Sunday  afternoon  I  found 
To  Miss    ^"^  ^^  ^^^  Brooklyn  family  waiting  to  tell  us  that  an- 
FMza  A.   other  of  the  girls  was  very  ill,  that  they  were  all  worn 
XcwYork,  oi^it  and  nearly  frantic,  and  asking   if  she   might   be 
'^iSSg^'    brought  here  to  be   put  under  the  care  of  some  Ger- 
man doctor,  as  Dr.  Smith  had  given  her  up.     In  the 
midst  of  my  sorrow  for  the  poor  mother,  I  thought  of  myself. 
How  could  I,  who  had  not  been  allowed  to  invite  Miss  Lyman 


SrFPPING   HEAVENWARD.  26c 

here,  undertake  this  terrible  care?  You  know  what  a  fearfu 
disease  it  is — how  many  convulsions  they  have  ;  but  you  don'* 
know  the  harm  it  did  me  just  seeing  poor  Jennie  P.  in  onr;. 
Yesterday  I  tried  hard  to  let  God  manage  it,  but  I  know  I 
ivis/ied  He  would  manage  it  so  as  to  spare  me  ;  it  takes  so  little 
to  pull  mc  down,  and  so  little  to  destroy  my  health.  But  I 
wasn't  in  a  good  frame,  couldn't  write  a  Percy  for  the  Ob- 
server, got  a  letter  from  some  house  down  town,  asking  me 
to  write  them  Susy  books,  got  a  London  Daily  News  contain- 
ing a  nice  notice  of  Little  Lou,  but  nought  consoled  me.'  In 
fact,  I  dawdled  so  long  over  H.'s  lessons,  which  I  always  hear 
after  breakfast,  that  I  had  not  my  usual  time  to  pray  ;  and  that, 
of  itself,  would  spoil  any  day.  After  dinner  came  two  of  the 
Prentiss  sisters  to  say  that  Dr.  [Horatio]  Smith  said  Eva's  one 
chance  of  getting  well  was  to  come  here  for  change  of  air  and 
scene — would  i  take  her  and  her  mother?  Of  course  I  would. 
They  then  told  me  that  Dr.  Smith  had  said  his  brother's  case 
was  perfectly  hopeless.  This  upset  me.  My  feet  turned  into 
ice  and  my  head  into  a  ball  of  fire.  As  soon  as  they  left,  T  had 
the  spare  room  arranged,  and  then  went  out  and  walked  til 
dark  to  cool  off  my  head,  but  to  so  little  purpose  that  I  had  a 
bad  night ;  the  news  about  Prof.  S.  was  so  dreadful.  Mr. 
Prentiss  was  appalled,  too.  I  had  to  make  this  a  day  of  rest — 
not  daring  to  work  after  such  a  night.  Got  up  at  seven  or  so, 
took  my  bath,  rung  the  bell  for  prayers  at  twenty  minutes  of 
eight.  After  breakfast  heard  H.'s  lessons,  then  read  the  joih 
».hapter  of  Matthew^  and  mused  long  on  Christ's  coming  to 
minister — not  to  be  ministered  unto.  Prayed  for  poor  Mrs. 
Smith  and  a  good  many  weary  souls,  and  felt  a  little  bit  better. 
Then  v  ent  down  to  Randolph's  at  the  request  of  a  lady,  who 
wanted  him  to  sell  some  books  she  had  got  up  for  a  benevolent 
object.     He  said  he'd   take  twelve.     Then  to  the  Smiths,  bur- 

•  The  following  is  part  of  the  notice  in  the  London  Daily  News  : 

"We  are,  unfortunately,  ignorant  of  Little  Susy's  Six  Birthdays,  but  if  thai  boot  be 
anything  like  as  good  as  the  charming  volunr.e  before  us  by  the  same  author,  ycloper! 

Littie  Lou's  Sayings  and  Doings,  it  deserves  an  extraordinary  popularity Liltte 

Lett,  is  one  of  the  most  natural  stories  in  the  world,  and  reads  more  like  a  mother's 
record  of  her  child's  sayings  and  doings  than  hke  a  fictitious  narrative.  Little  Lou,  be 
it  remarked,  is  a  true  baby  throughout,  ir^-^tead  of  being  a  precocious  little  prig,  a?  so 
many  good  children  are  in  print.  The  child's  love  for  his  mother  and  his  motlier's  love 
for  him  is  described  in  the  prettiest  way  possible." 


266  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PFENTISS. 

denecl  with   my  sad   secret.     Got   home  tired   and   depressed 
Tried  to  get  to  sleep  and  couldn't,  tried  to  read  and  couldn't. 

At  last  they  came  with  the  sick  girl,  and  one  look  at  the 
poor,  half-fainting  child,  and  her  mother's  "Nobody  in  the 
world  but  you  would  have  let  us  come,"  made  them  welcome  ; 
and  I  have  rejoiced  ever  since  that  God  let  them  come.  One  of 
the  first  things  they  said  took  my  worst  burden  off  my  back  ; 
the  whole  story  about  Prof.  Smith  was  a  dream  !  Can  you 
conceive  mv  relief?  We  had  dinner.  Eva  ate  more  than  she 
had  done  for  a  long  time.  We  had  a  long  talk  with  her  mother 
after  dinner;  then  I  went  up  to  the  sick-room  and  stayed  an 
hour  or  so  ;  then  had  a  call  ;  then  ran  out  to  carry  a  book  to  a 
widowed  lady,  that  I  hoped  would  comfort  her  ;  then  home, 
and  with  Eva  till  tea-time.  Then  had  some  comfort  in  laying 
all  these  cares  and  interests  in  those  loving  Arms  that  are 
alwavs  so  ready  to  take  them  in.  I  enjoy  praying  in  the  morn- 
ing best,  however— perhaps  because  less  tired  ;  but  sometimes 
I  think  it  is  owing  to  a  sort  of  night-preparation  for  it ;  I  mean, 
in  the  wakeful  times  of  night  and  early  morning. 

Wednesday,  17//^.— While  I  was  writing  the  above  all  the  Brook- 
lyn Prentisses  went  to  bed,  and  we  New  York  Prentisses  went 
to  the  Sunday-school  rooms  next  door  to  a  church-gathering. 
There  are  three  rooms  that  can  be  thrown  together,  and  they 
were    bright    and    fragrant  with   flowers,   most  of    which    the 
young  men   sent    me   afterwards,  exquisite   things.       I   had   a 
precious  talk   with  Dr.  Abbot,  one  of   whose   feet,  to   say  the 
least,  is  already  on  the  topmost   round.     I  only  wish  he  was  a 
woman.    The  church  was  open,  and  we  all  went  in  and  listened 
to  some  fine  music.     Coming  out  I  said   to  a  gentleman  who 
approached  me,  "  How  is  little  baby  ?  "     "  Which  little  baby  ?  " 
''Why,  the  youngest."     "Oh,  we  haven't  any  baby."     And  lo  ! 
I  had  mistaken  my  mar  !     Imagine  how  he  felt  and  how  /  felt  ! 
We  got  home  at  eleven  p.m.,  and  so  ended  my  day  of  rest.     1 
have  540  things  to  say,  but  there  is  so  much  going  on  that  I 
shall  defraud  you  of  them— aren't  you  glad?     Have  you  read 
the  "  Gates  Ajar  "  ?     I  have,  wdth  real  pain.    I  do  not  think  you 
will  be  so  shocked  at  it  as  I  am,  but  hope  you  don't  like  it.     II 
is  full  of  talent,  but  has  next  to  no  Christ  in  it,  and  my  heaven 
is  full  of  Him.     I  have  finished  Faber.     How  queer  he  is  with 
his  3's   and   5's  and  6's  and   7's  !     I  feel  all  done  up  into  little 


S  r E PPT .\  G    H  i: A V EN WA  R  D.  267 

sums  in  addition,  and  that's  about  all  I  know  of  1  lyself — he's 
bewildered  me  so.  There  are  fine  things  in  it,  and  I  took  the 
liberty  of  making  a  wee  cross  against  some  of  them,  which  v(.u 
can  rub  out.  Miss  L.  sent  me  another  of  his  books,  which  I  am 
reading  now — "All  for  Jesus." 

We  were  gladdened  early  this  morning  by  the  arrival   of 

To  Mrs,    your  letter,  and  the  good  news  it  contained.      I  had  a 

B.  ^Smith,  dreadful  fright  on  the  day  you  reached  Soutliampton. 

^March'^t'  jNIr.  Moore  sent  up  a  cable  dispatch  announcing  the 

1S69.  fact,  and  as  it  came  directed  to  both  of  us,  and  I  sup- 
posed it  to  be  from  you,  I  thought  some  terrible  thing  had 
happened.  I  paraded  down  to  M.  with  your  letter,  and  she,  at 
the  same  time,  paraded  up  here  with  the  one  to  her  and  the 
rest.  So  we  got  all  the  news  there  was,  and  longed  for  more. 
I  hope  the  worst  is  now  over.  I  have  just  got  home  from  a 
visit  of  four  days  and  nights  to  Miss  Lyman.  I  enjoyed  it  ex- 
ceedingly, and  wish  I  could  tell  you  all  about  it,  but  can't  in  a 
letter.  She  has  turns  of  looking  absolutely  aged,,  and  seems  a 
good  deal  of  the  time  in  a  perfect  worry,  I  don't  know  what 
about.  Otherwise  she  is  better  than  last  summer.  I  never  saw 
her  when  at  work  before,  and  perhaps  she  always  appears  so. 
We  had  two  or  three  good  rousing  laughs,  however,  and  that 
did  us  both  good.  I  did  not  know  she  was  so  fond  of  llowers  ; 
she  buys  them  and  keeps  loads  of  them  about  her  parlors, 
library,  and  bedroom.  What  a  world  it  is  there  !  I  only  wish 
she  was  happier  in  her  work,  but  perhaps  if  we  c<nild  get  be- 
hind the  scenes,  we  should  find  all  human  workers  have  their 
sorrows  and  misgivings  and  faintings.  According  to  her  I  had 
an  "inquiry  meeting"  once  or  twice  ;  believe  it  if  you  can  and 
dare.  It  was  certainly  very  pleasant  to  get  into  such  an  intel- 
ligent Christian  atmosphere,  and  on  the  whole  I've  got  rathei 
converted  to  Vassar. 

I  have  been  greatly  delighted  with  a  present  of  one  of  my 
father's  cuff-buttons  (vvhich  I  well  remember),  and  a  lock  of  his 

hair I  haven't  got  anything  more  to  say.     Oh,  Mrs. 

left  that  on  her  card  here  the  other  day,  and  we  called  on  her 
this  afternoon.  What  a  jolly  old  lady  she  is  !  Of  course,  imy- 
body  could  believe  in  perfection  who  was  as  fat  and  well  as 
she  ! 


268  TITE   LIFE   OF    MRS.    PRENTISS. 

If  I  should  send  you  a  letter  every  time  I  send  you  a 
To  Mrs  thought,  you  would  be  quite  overwhelmed  with  them. 
Leonard,    Now  that   Mrs.   S.   has   gone   awav,  and  some  of  mv 

New  York^  ..         .  '  , 

April  I,  pressing  cares  are  over,  I  miss  you  more  than  ever 
1869.  ^y^  have  had  a  good  deal  to  sadden  us  this  winter, 
beginning  with  your  sorrow,  which  was  also  ours  ;  and  Eva 
P.'s  death,  occurring  as  it  did  in  our  house,  was  a  distressing 
one.  She  was  here  about  a  fortnight,  and  the  first  week  came 
down  to  her  meals,  though  she  kept  in  her  room  the  rest  of  the 
time.  On  Tuesday  night  of  the  second  week  she  was  at  the 
tea-table,  and  played  a  duet  with  A.  after  tea.  Soon  after  she 
was  taken  with  distress  for  breath,  and  was  never  in  bed  again, 
but  sat  nearly  double  in  a  chair,  with  one  of  us  supporting  her 
head.  It  was  agonizing  suffering  to  witness,  and  the  care  of 
her  was  more  laborious  than  anyone  can  conceive,  who  did  not 
witness  or  participate  in  it.  We  had  at  last  to  have  six  on 
hand  to  relieve  each  other.  She  died  on  Saturday,  after  four 
terrible  days  and  nights.  We  knew  she  would  die  here  when 
they  first  proposed  her  coming,  but  did  not  like  to  refuse  her 
last  desire,  and  are  very  glad  we  had  the  privilege  of  minister- 
ing to  her  last  wants For  you  I  desire  but  one  thing — a 

full  possession  of  Christ.  Let  us  turn  away  our  eyes  from 
everything  that  does  not  directly  exalt  Him  in  our  affections  ; 
we  are  poor  Vv'ithout  Him,  no  matter  what  our  worldly  advan- 
tages are  ;  rich  with  Him  when  stripped  of  all  besides.  Still  I 
know  you  are  passing  through  deep  waters,  and  at  times  must 
well  nigh  sink.  But  your  loving  Saviour  will  not  let  you  sink, 
and  He  never  loved  you  so  well  as  He  does  now.  How  often  I 
long  to  fly  to  you  in  your  lonely  hours  !  But  I  can  not,  and  so 
I  turn  these  longings  into  prayers.  I  hope  you  pray  for  me, 
too.  You  could  not  give  me  anything  I  should  value  so  much, 
and  it  is  a  great  comfort  to  me  to  know  that  you  love  me.  I 
care  more  to  be  loved  than  to  be  admired,  don't  you  ?  I  hope 
that  by  next  winter  you  may  feel  that  you  can  come  and  see 
lis  ;  I  want  to  see  you,  not  merely  to  write  to  you  and  get  an- 
swers.    I  send  you  a  picture  of  our  nest  at  Dorset.    Good-bye. 

I  opened  your  letter  in  the  street,  and  was  at  once  confronted 
To  Miss    with   a  worldlv-lookinp*  bit  of   silk  !     How  can  you  ! 

R.A.  War-  „^,        ^       ,  'r,,  ,  .,  -, 

ner.  New   Why  don  t  you  loUow  my  example  and  dress  m  sack- 
^'zot'ileg.'''  ^^^^^  ^"^   ^^^^s  ^     ^   think,   however,   if   you   will  be 


STFI'I'ING    1 1  K.W  E^  WARD. 


269 


worldly  you  have  done  it  very  prettily,  and  on  the  whole 
don't  know  that  it  is  any  wickeder  than  I  have  been  in 
translating  a  "dramatic  poem"  in  five  acts  from  the  German, 
only  you've  got  your  dress  done  and  I'm  only  half  through  my 
play  ;  and  there's  no  knowing  how  bad  I  shall  get  before  I  am 
through.  I  wonder  if  you  are  sitting  by  an  open  window,  as  I 
am,  and  roasting  at  that  ?  I  had  a  drive  with  A.  and  M.  through 
the  Park  yesterday,  and  saw  stacks  of  hyacinths  in  bloom,  and 
tulips  and  violets  and  dandelions  ;  a  willow-tree  not  far  from 
my  window  has  put  on  its  tender  green,  and  summer  seems 
close  at  hand.  I  have  been  to  an  auction  and  got  cheated,  as  I 
might  have  known  I  should  ;  and  the  other  day  I  had  my 
pocket  picked.  As  to  "  Gates  Ajar,"  most  people  are  enchanted 
with  it  ;  but  Miss  Lyman  regards  it  as  I  do,  and  so  do  some 
other  elect  ladies.  I  have  just  written  to  see  if  she  will  come 
down  and  get  a  little  rest,  now  the  weather  is  so  fine.  Mr.  P. 
has  gone  to  Dorset  to  be  gone  all  the  week,  and  I  am  buying 
up  what  is  to  be  bought,  begrudging  every  cent  !  mean  wretch 
that  I  am. 

I  have  looked  through  and  read  parts  of  "  Patience  Strong's 
Outings  " — an  ugly  title,  and  a  transcendental  style,  but  beauti- 
ful in  conception,  and  taken  off  the  stilts,  in  execution.  1  do 
not  like  the  cant  of  Unitarians  any  better  than  they  like  ours, 
biu  I  like  what  is  elevating  in  any  sect.  I  have  had  a  present 
of  a  lot  of  table-linen,  towels,  etc.,  for  Dorset,  and  feel  a  good 
deal  like  a  young  housekeeper.  I  wonder  how  soon  you  go 
back  to  Northampton  ?  How  queer  it  must  be  to  be  able  to 
float  round  !  It  is  a  pity  you  could  not  float  to  New  York,  and 
get  a  good  hugging  from  this  old  woman.  We  expect  250  min- 
isters here  in  May  at  general  assembly  (I  ought  to  have  spelt  it 
with  a  big  G  and  a  big  A).  My  dear  child,  what  makes  you 
get  blue?  I  don't  much  believe  in  any  blue  devils  save  those 
that  live  in  the  body  and  send  sallies  into  the  mind.  Perhaps 
I  should,  though,  if  I  had  not  a  husband  and  children  to  kx-k 
after  ;  how  little  one  can  judge  for  another  ! 


270  THE    LIFE   OF    MRS.    PRENTISS. 


II. 

How  she  earned  her  Sleep.  Writing  for  young  Converts  about  speaking  the  Truth. 
Meetin-  of  the  General  Assembly  in  the  Church  of  the  Covenant.  Reunion,  D.D.s 
and  Strawberry  Short-cake.  "Enacting  the  Tiger."  Getting  ready  for  Dorset. 
Letters. 

This  year  was  one  of  the  busiest  of  her  life;  and  it  were 
hard  to  say  which  was  busiest,  her  body  or  mind;  her  hand, 
heart,  or  brain.  This  relentless  activity  was  caused  in  part 
by  the  increasing  difificulty  of  obtaining  sleep.  Incessant  work 
seemed  to  be,  in  her  case,  a  sort  of  substitute  for  natural  rest 
and  a  solace  for  the  loss  of  it.  She  alludes  to  this  constant 
struggle  with  insomnia  in  a  letter  to  Miss  Warner,  dated 
May  9th : 

If  you  knew  the  whole  story  you  would  not  envy  my  power 
of  driving  about  so  much.  You  can  lie  down  and  sleep  when 
you  please  ;  I  must  earn  my  sleep  by  hard  work,  which  uses  up 
so  much  time  that  I  wonder  I  ever  accomplish  anything.  I  be- 
lieve that  God  arranges  our  various  burdens  and  fits  them  to 
our  backs,  and  that  He  sets  off  a  loss  against  a  gain,  so  that 
while  some  seem  more  favored  than  others,  the  mere  aspect 
deceives.  I  have  to  make  it  my  steady  object  throughout  each 
day,  so  to  spend  time  and  strength  as  to  obtain  sleep  enough 
to  carry  me  through  the  next ;  it  is  thus  I  have  acquired  the 
habit  of  taking  a  large  amount  of  exercise,  which  keeps  me  out 
of  doors  when  I  am  longing  to  be  at  work  within.  You  say  I 
seem  to  be  always  in  a  flood  of  joy  ;  well,  that  too  is  seems.  I 
think  I  know  what  joy  in  God  means,  though  perhaps  I  only 
begin  to  know ;  but  I  am  a  weak  creature ;  I  fall  into  snares 
and  get  entangled — not  nearly  so  often  as  I  used  to  do,  but 
still  do  get  into  them.  I  have  a  perfect  horror  of  them  ;  the 
thought  of  having  anything  come  between  God  and  my  soid 
makes  me  so  restless  and  uneasy  that  I  hardly  know  which  vv'ay 
".o  turn.  I  have  been  very  much  absorbed  of  late  in  various  in- 
terests, and  am  sure  thoy  htive  contrived  to  occupy  me  toe 
much  ;  pressing  cares  do  sometimes,  and  oh,  how  ashamed  J 
am  ! 

Do  write  for  young  inquirers,  if  )'our  heart  prompts  you  tc 


STEPPING    HEAVENWARD.  27 1 

do  it.  I  don't  know  what  to  think  of  your  suggestion  that  ir 
writing  for  young  converts  I  should  impress  it  upon  them  tc 
speak  the  truth.  It  seems  to  me  just  like  telling  them  not  to 
commit  murder  ;  and  that  would  be  absurd.  Do  Christians 
cheat  and  tell  lies  ?  I  have  a  great  aversion  to  writing  abou* 
such  things  ;  if  children  are  not  trained  at  home  to  be  upright 
and  full  of  integrity,  it  can't  be  that  books  can  rectify  that 
loss.  You  .nay  reply  that  home-training  is  defective  in  thou- 
sands of  cases  ;  yes,  that  is  true,  but  I  have  a  feeling  that  truth 
and  honesty  must  spring  from  a  soil  early  prepared  for  them, 
and  that  a  young  person  who  is  in  the  habit  of  falsehood  is  not 
a  Christian  and  needs  to  g'o  back  to  first  principles.  I  can't 
endure  subterfuges,  misrepresentation,  and  the  like  ;  the  whole 
foundation  looks  wrong  when  people  indulge  themselves  in 
them,  and  to  say  to  a  Christian,  "I  hope  you  are  truthful,"  is 
to  my  mind  as  if  I  should  say  to  him,  "  I  hope  you  wash  your 
face  and  hands  every  day."  Now  if  your  observation  says  I 
am  wrong,  let's  know  ;  I  am  open  to  conviction. 

It   has   just  come  to  me  that  the  true  way  to  enjoy  writing 
and  to   have  you  enjoy  iiearing,  is  to  keep  a  sort  of 
H.  B.'    journal,  where  little  things  will  have  a  chance  to  speak 
Jlw'york,  toi*  themselves. 

May-zi,,           We  ai-g   now  in    the    midst   of   (jcneral   Asscmblv. 
1S69.  .      .    .' 
Mr.  Stearns  is  here,  and  we  have  sprinklings  ot  minis- 
ters to  dine  and  to  tea  at  all  sorts  of  odd  hours I   can't 

help  loving  what  is  Christlike  in  people,  whether  1  like  their 
natural  characters  or  not  ;  after  all,  what  else  is  there  in  the 
world  worth  much  love  .^  My  Katy  seems  to  be  ploughing  her 
way  with  more  or  less  success,  and  making  friends  and  foes. 
You,  who  helped  me  fashion  her,  would  be  interested  in  the 
letters  I  get  from  wives,  showing  that  the  want  of  demonstra- 
tion in  men  is  a  wide-spread  evil,  under  which  women  do  groan 

being  burdened.     Eittj-e  nous,  Mrs.  Dr. is  one,  and  I  got  a 

letter  to-day  from  Michigan  to  the  same  effect.  We  are  having 
delightful  weather  for  the  meetings.  Yesterday  morning  Dr. 
John   Hall  preached  in  our  church,  and  it  was  crammed  full  to 

overflowing Lew.    S.'    has    decided    to    study   theology. 

We  are  all  glad.     He  and  I  have  got  quite  acquainted  of  late 

'  Now  Irofessor  of  Theology  at  Ranjjur. 


2/2  THE    LIFE   OF    xMRS.    PRENTISS. 

and  talk  most  learnedly  together.  Did  I  tell  you  I  have  trans 
lated  a  German  dramatic  poem  in  live  acts  ?  Miss  Anna  Nev- 
ins  says  I  have  done  it  extremely  well.  I  don't  know  about 
that,  but  my  whole  soul  got  into  it  somehow,  and  I  did  not 
know  whether  I  was  in  the  body  or  out  of  it  for  two  or  three 
weeks.  I  wish  I  could  do  things  decently  and  in  order.  There 
is  to  be  a  great  party  at  Apollo  Hall  this  evening  for  both  As- 
semblies.    I  am  going  and  expect  Id  get  tired  to  death. 

26^/1. — It  was  a  brilliant  scene  at  Apollo  Hall.  Everybody 
was  there,  and  the  hall  was  finely  adapted  to  the  purpose  of 
accommodating  the  2,000  people  present.  The  speeches  were 
very  poor.  I  went  to  the  prayer-meeting  this  morning.  The 
church  was  full,  galleries  and  all,  and  the  spirit  was  excellent. 
Many  men  shed  tears  in  speaking  for  reunion,  and,  from  what 
Mr.  Stearns  reports  of  the  meeting  of  the  Committee  last 
night,  union  may  be  considered  as  good  as  restored.  You  will 
hear  nothing  else  from  me  ;  it  is  all  I  hear  talked  about.  Mon- 
day^ 31. — Hot  as  need  be.  Dr.  B.,  of  Brooklyn,  dined  with  us  ; 
said  li'  never  ate  strawberry  short-cake  before,  and  was  read- 
ing Katy.  It  is  awful  to  think  how  many  D.D.s  are  doing  it 
(eating  short-cake,  I  mean,  of  course  !)  Hope  the  Assembly 
will  wind  up  to-night.  June  5. — We  are  so  glad  you  have  got 
to  La  Tour  and  find  it  so  pleasant  there,  and  that  you  have 
met  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Guthrie,  and  that  they  have  met  you  instead 
of  the  blowsy-towsy  American  women,  who  make  one  so 
ashamed  of  them.  If  I  wasn't  going  to  Dorset,  I  should  wish  I 
were  going  where  you  are  ;  but  then,  you   see,  I  am  going  to 

Dorset !....!  have  been  to  the  Central  Park  with  Mrs. , 

who  talked  in  one  steady  stream  all  the  way.  I  was  sleepy  and 
the  carriage  very  noisy  ;  and  take  it  altogether,  what  a  farce 
life  is  sometimes  !  the  intercourse  of  human  beings  outsides 
touching  outsides,  the  heart  and  soul  lying  to  all  intents  and 
purposes  as  dead  as  a  door-nail.  Do  you  ever  feel  mentally 
and  spiritually  alone  in  the  world?     Perhaps  everybody  does. 

I  concluded  you  had  gone  and  died  and  got  buried  without 
^    .,.      letting  me   know,  when   your  letter   reached   me  via 

To  Miss  ^ 

F.  A.      Dorset.     What   possessed  you   to  send   it  there  when 

Ne^t^Vaik  3'^^^   knew,  you    naughty   thing !    that    I   was    having 

^"Jl^"^'    General   Assembly,  I   can't    imagine;    but    I   supposCj 

being  a  Congregationalist,  you  thought  General  As- 


STKl'i^INCi    IIEAVExWVARD.  273 

sembly  wasn't  nothing,  and  that   I  could  entertain  squads  of 
D.D.s  for  a  fortnight  more  or  less,  just  as  well  at  Dorset  as  I 
could  here.     My  dear,  read  the  papers  and  go  in  the  way  you 
should  go,  and  behave  yourself  !     As  if  250  ministers  haven't 
worn  streaks  in  the  grass  round  the  church,  haven't  (some  of 
'em)  been  here  to  dinner  and   eaten  my  strawberry  short-cake 
and  cottage  puddings  and   praised  my  coffee  and  drank  two 
cups  apiece  all  round,  and  as  if  I  hadn't  been  set  up  on  end  foi 
those  of  'em  to  look  at  who  are  reading  Katy,  and  as  if  going 
furiously  to  work,  after  they'd  all  gone,  didn't  use  me  up  and 
send  me  "lopping"  down  on  sofas,  sighing  like  a  what's-its- 
name.     Well,  well ;  the  ignorance  of  you  country  folks  and  the 
wisdom  of  us  city  folks  !    We  hope  to  get  to  Dorset  by  the  17th 
of  this  month  ;  it  depends  upon  how  many  interruptions  I  have 
and  how  many  days  I  have  to  lie  by.     I  can't  imagine  why  I 
break  down  so,  for  I  don't  know  when   I've  been  so  well  as 
during  this  spring  ;  but  Mr.  P.  and  A.  say  I  work  like  a  tiger, 
and  I  s'pose  I  do  without  knowing  it.     I  am  so  glad  you  had  a 
pleasant  Sunday.    No  doubt  you  had  more  bodily  strength  with 
which  to  enjoy  spiritual  things.     A  weak  body  hinders  prayer 
and  praise  when  the  heart  would  sing,  if  it  were  not  in  fetters 
that  cramp  and  exhaust  it. 

Monday. — To-day  I  have  been  enacting  the  tiger  again,  and 
worked  furiously.  A.  half  scolds  and  half  entreats,  but  I  can't 
help  it ;  if  I  work  I  work,  and  so  there  it  is.  I  have  bought  a 
dinner-set,  and  had  a  long  visit  from  my  old  Mary,  who  wept 
over  and  kissed  me,  and  am  going  out  to  call  on  Mrs.  Woolsey 
this  evening.  To-morrow  A.'s  scholars  are  to  come  and  make 
an  address  to  her  and  give  her  a  picture.  She  is  not  to  know 
it  till  they  arrive.  It  is  really  cold  after  the  very  hot  weather, 
and  some  are  freezing  and  some  have  internal  pains.  I  wish 
you  could  have  seen  me  this  forenoon  at  work  in  the  attic 
— a  mass  of  dust,  feathers,  and  perplexity.  I  got  hold  of  one 
of  my  John's  innumerable  trunks  of  papers,  and  found  among 
them  the  MSS.  of  several  of  my  books  laid  up  in  lavender, 
which  I  pitched  into  the  ash-barrel.  I  suppose  he  thinks  I 
may  distinguish  myself  some  time,  and  that  the  discerning 
world  will  be  after  a  scratch  of  my  gifted  pen  !  Have  you 
read  "Gates  Off  the  Hinges".?  The  next  thing  will  be 
There  Aint  no  Gates." 
18 


274  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

III. 

The  new  Home  in  Dorset.     What  it  became  to  her.     Letters  from  there. 

A  NOTABLE  incident  of  this  year  was  the  entering  upon 
housekeeping  at  Dorset  under  her  own  roof.  As  is  usual  in 
such  cases,  the  process  was  somewhat  wearisome  and  trying,  but 
the  result  was  most  happy.  All  the  bright  anticipations,  with 
which  the  event  had  been  so  long  looked  forward  to,  were 
more  than  realised.  For  the  next  ten  summers  the  Dorset 
home  was  to  her  a  sweet  haven  of  rest  from  the  agitations, 
cares,  and  turmoil  of  New  York  life.  It  seemed  at  the  time  a 
venturesome,  almost  a  rash  thing,  to  build  it ;  but  when  she 
left  it  for  her  home  above,  the  building  of  the  house  seemed 
to  have  been  an  inspiration  of  Providence.  While  contributing 
greatly  to  her  happiness,  it  probably  added  several  years  to 
her  life.  The  four  months  which  she  passed  each  season  at 
Dorset  were  spent  largely  in  the  open  air,  and  in  such  varied 
and  pleasant  exercise  as  exerted  the  most  healthful,  sooth- 
ing influence  upon  both  body  and  soul.  It  was  just  this  fruit 
her  husband  hoped  might,  by  the  blessing  of  Heaven,  blossom 
out  of  the  new  home,  and  in  later  years  he  used  often  to  say 
to  her,  theit  if  the  place  should  be  of  a  sudden  annihilated, 
he  should  still  feel  that  it  had  paid  for  itself  many  times  over. 

How  many  times  during  the  last  month  I  have  been  remind- 
To  Mrs     ^^  ^^  y°^^^  saying,  you  had  lived  through  the  agony 
isviith,     of  getting  your  house  ready  to  rent.     I  can  sum  up 
>/vi9,    all  I  have  been  through  by  saying  that  almost  every- 
'^-       thing  has  turned  out    the  reverse  of  what  I  expect- 
ed.      In    the    first    place,  I   broke    down    just    as   we   were    to 
start  to  come  here,  and  had   to  be  left  behind  to  pick  up  life 
enough   to  undertake  the  journey  ;  then  the  car  we  chartered 
did   not  get  here  for  a  week,  and  nobody  but  A.  had  anything 
to  wear,  and  all  my  (lowers  died  for  want  of  water.     The  car,  too, 
was  broken  into  and  my  idols  of  tin  pans  all  taken,  with  some 
other  things,  and  when  it  did  arrive  it  was  unpacked,  and  our 
g0(;ds  brought  here,  in  a  regular  deluge,  the  like  of  which  has 


STEPPING    IIE.WKXWARI). 


275 


not  been  seen  since  the  days  of  Noah.  For  days  everything 
was  in  dire  confusion  ;  but  for  all  that  our  own  home  was  de- 
lightful, and  we  had  the  most  outrageous  appetites  you  ever 
heard  of.     George  is  in   ecstasies  with  his  house,  his  land,  his 

pig,  and  his  horse I  hope  you  are  not  sick  and  tired  of 

all  this  rigmarole  ;  it  isn't  in  human  nature  to  move  into  a 
house  of  its  own  and  talk  of  anything  else.  I  got  a  warm- 
hearted letter  a  few  days  ago  from  the  cit)^  of  Milwaukee,  from 
an  unknow^n  western  sister,  beginning,  "Whom  not  having 
seen  I  love,"  and  gomg  on  to  say  that  Katy  describes  herself 
and  her  lot  exactly,  only  she  had  no  Martha  on  hand.  I  get 
so  many  such  testimonies.  I  am  going  to  spare  your  eyes  and 
brains  by  winding  up  this  epistle  and  going  to  bed.  1  do  not 
think  your  husband  ought  to  come  home  till  he  has  recovered 
his  power  of  sleeping.  I  know  how  to  pity  him,  if  anybody 
does,  and  I  know  how  loss  of  sleep  cripples.    Good-night,  dear 

child. 

"  God  bless  me  anrl  my  wife  ; 
You  and  your  wife, 
Us  four 
And  no  more." 

Your  last  letter  endeared  you  to  me  more  than  ever,  and  I 
To  Mrs  ^'^^'^'^  longed  to  answer  it,  but  we  have  been  in  such  n 
Leojiard,   state  of  confusion  that  writinpr  has  been  a  task.     The 

Dorset,  .  ,    .       .  ,  , 

August  2,,  whole  house  has  been  painted  inside  and  out  since  we 
^^^^'  entered  it,  and  I  dare  say  you  know  what  endless  up- 
roar the  flitting  from  room  to  room  to  accommodate  painters, 
causes.  We  have  just  been  admitted  to  our  parlor,  but  it  is  in 
no  order,  and  the  dining-room  is  still  piled  with  trunks.  But 
the  house  is  lovely,  and  we  shall  feel  well  repaid  for  the  severe 
labor  it  has  cost  us,  when  it  is  done  and  we  can  settle  down  in 
it.  I  write  to  ask  you  to  send  me  by  express  what  numbers  of 
Stepping  Heavenward  you  have  on  hand.  I  would  not  give 
you  the  trouble  to  do  this  if  I  could  get  them  in  any  other 
way,  but  I  can  not,  as  all  back  numbers  are  gone,  and  the  copy 
I  have  has  been  borrowed  and  worn,  so  as  to  be  illegible  in 
many  places.  Randolph  is  to  publish  the  work  and  says  he 
wants  it  soon.  T  am  constantly  receiving  testimonies  as  to  its 
usefulness,  and  hope  it  will  do  good  to  many  who  have  not 
seen  It  in  the  Advance. 


276  THE    LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

How  I  do  long  to  see  you  !  I  think  of  you  many  times 
every  day,  and  thank  God  that  He  enables  you  to  glorify  Him 
in  bearing  your  great  sorrow.  Sometimes  I  feel  as  if  I  must 
see  Mr.  L.'s  kind  face  once  more,  but  I  remind  myself  that  by 
patiently  waiting  a  little  while,  I  shall  see  it  and  the  faces  of  all 
the  sainted  ones  who  have  gone  before.  Next  to  faith  in  God 
comes  patience  ;  I  see  that  more  and  more,  and  few  possess 
enough  of  either  to  enable  them  to  meet  the  day  of  bereave- 
ment without  dismay.  We  are  constantly  getting  letters  from 
afflicted  souls  that  can  not  see  one  ray  of  light,  and  keep  reiter- 
ating, "I  am  not  reconciled."  How  fearful  it  must  be  to  kick 
thus  against  the  pricks,  already  sharp  enough  !  I  believe 
fully  with  you  that  there  is  no  happiness  on  earth,  as  rhere  is 
none  in  heaven,  to  be  compared  with  that  of  losing  all  things 
to  possess  Christ.  I  look  back  to  two  points  in  my  life  as 
standing  out  from  all  the  rest  of  it  as  seasons  of  peculiar  joy, 
and  they  are  the  points  where  I  was  crushed  under  the  weight 
of  sorrow.  How  wonderful  this  is,  how  incomprehensible  to 
those  who  have  not  learned  Christ !  Do  write  me  of  tener  ;  you 
are  very  dear  to  me,  and  your  letters  always  welcome.  I  love 
you  for  magnifying  the  Lord  in  the  midst  of  your  distress  ; 
you  could  not  get  so  into  my  heart  in  any  other  way. 

Half  of  your  chickens  are  safely  here,  well  and  bright,  and 

To  Mrs    settled  I  hope,  for  the  summer.    A.,  and  M.,  who  seems 

Smi/h,     as  joyous  as  a  lark,  are  like  Siamese  twins,  with  the 

AtZnst\,  advantage  of  untying  at  night  and  sleeping  in  differ- 

^^^'  ent  beds.  I  have  not  been  well,  and  did  not  go  to 
church  to-day  ;  but  Prof.  Robinson  of  Rochester,  N.  Y.,  preach- 
ed a  very  superior  sermon,  George  says.  They  have  gone  to 
our  woods  together.  We  took  tea  a  few  nights  ago  at  the 
Pratts,  being  invited  to  meet  him  and  Mrs.  R.  They  asked 
many  questions  about  you  and  your  husband.  We  fmd  the 
Pratts  charming  neighbors  in  their  way,  modest,  kind,  and 
good.     They  take  the  Advance,  read  Katy,  and  like  it. 

Aii^  2  \st. — As  we  have  only  had  sixteen  in  our  family  of  late, 
T  have  not  had  much  to  do.  Yesterday  we  made  up  a  party  to 
the  quarry  and  had  just  got  seated,  twenty-nine  in  all,  to  eat 
a  very  nice  dinner,  when  it  began  to  rain  in  floods.  Each 
grabbed  his  plate,   if  he  could,  and   rushed  to  a  blacksmith's 


STHPIMXC    llKAN'KNWAkI).  2/7 

Shop  not  far  off ;  twenty  or  thirty  workmen  rushed  tliere  too, 
and  there  we  were,  cooped  up  in  the  dirt,  to  finish  our  meal  as 
we  best  could.  It  soon  stopped  pouring  and  we  had  a  delight- 
ful drive  home.  Mr.  B.  F.  B.,  with  two  of  his  boys,  was  with  us. 
lie  is  charmed  with  our  house  and  its  views.  Katy  has  made 
her  last  appearance  in  the  Advance,  but  I  keep  getting  letters 
nbout  her  from  all  quarters,  and  the  editors  say  they  have  had 
hundreds.'  H.  has  caught  up  with  Hal  and  they  are  exactly 
of  a  height,  and  I  feel  as  if  I  had  a  dear  little  pair  of  twins. 
Last  Sunday  evening  the  three  boys  laid  their  heads  in  my 
lap  together,  all  alike  content. 


IV. 

Return  to  To%vn.  Domestic  Changes.  Letters,  "  My  Heart  sides  with  God  in  every- 
thing." Visiting  among  tlie  Poor.  *' ConHict  isn't  Sin."  Publication  of  .57^/////^ 
Heavenward.  Her  Misgivings  about  it.  How  it  was  received.  Reminiscences  by 
Miss  Eliza  A.  Warner.     Letters.     The  Rev.  Wlieelock  Craig. 

Early  in  •October  she  returned  to  town  and  began  to 
make  ready  for  the  departure  of  her  eldest  daughter  to  Eu- 
rope, where  she  was  to  pass  the  next  year  with  the  famiU'  of 
Prof.  Smith.     The  younger  children  had  thus  far  been  taught 

'  The  following  is  an  extract  from  a  letter  of  one  of  the  editors  of  The  Advance,  Mr. 
J.  B.  T.  Marsh,  dated  Chicago,  August  lo,  1S69  :— "  You  will  notice  that  the  story  is  com- 
pleted this  week  ;  I  wish  it  could  have  continued  six  months  longer.  I  liave  several  times 
been  on  the  point  of  writing  you  to  express  my  own  personal  satisfaction — and  more  than 
satisfaction — in  reading  it,  and  to  acquaint  you  with  the  great  unanimity  and  volume  of 
praise  of  it,  which  has  reached  us  from  our  readers.  I  do  not  think  anything  since  the 
National  Lia  and  '  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin '  times  l.as  been  more  heartily  received  by  newsj- 
paper  readers.  I  am  sure  it  will  have  a  great  sale  if  rightly  brought  before  the  puljlic. 
A  publisher  from  London  was  in  our  office  the  other  day,  signifying  a  desire  lo  make 
some  arrangement  to  bring  it  out  there.  I  have  heard  almost  no  unfavorable  criticism  of 
the  story — nothing  which  you  could  make  serviceable  in  its  revision.  I  have  heard  Dr.  P. 
criticise  Ernest — of  course  the  character  and  not  your  portrayal.  l"or  myself  1  consider 
the  character  a  natural  and  consistent  one.  Perhaps  few  men  are  found  who  are  quite  sc 
blind  to  a  wife's  wants  and  yet  so  devoted,  but— I  don't  know  what  the  wives  might  say. 
We  have  had  hundreds  of  letters  of  wliich  the  expression  has  been,  'We  quarrel  to  se« 
who  shall  have  the  first  reading  of  the  storj'.'  I  congratulate  you  most  heartily  upon  its 
great  success  and  the  great  good  it  has  done  and  will  yet  do.  I  think  if  you  should  cvci 
come  West  my  wife  would  overturn  almost  any  stone  for  the  sake  of  welcoming  you  tc 
the  hospitality  of  our  cottage  on  the  Lake  Michigan  shore." 


278  THE    LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

by  their  sister,  and  her  leaving  home  was  fraught  with  no  little 
trial  both  to  them  and  to  the  mother. 

I  car.  fully  sympathise  with  the  sad  toss  you  are  in  about 
To  Mrs.  staying  abroad  another  year,  but  we  feel  that  there  is 
^yori^oSt^^  doubt  you  have  decided  wisely  and  well.  But  the 
der  12.  bare  mention  of  your  settling  down  at  Vevay  has 
driven  us  all  wild.  What  hallucination  could  you  have  been 
laboring  under  ?  Why,  your  husband  would  go  off  the  handle 
in  a  week  !  To  be  sure  it  is  beautiful  for  situation  as  Mount 
Zion  itself,  but  one  can't  live  on  beauty  ;  one  must  have  life 
and  action,  and  stimulus  ;  in  other  words,  human  beings. 
They're  all  horrid  (except  you),  but  we  can't  do  without  'em. 
What  I  went  through  at  lonely  Genevrier  ! 

"  Oh  Solitude,  where  are  the  chamis 
That  sages  have  seen  in  thy  face  !  " 

We  took  it  for  granted  that  you  would  settle  in  some  Ger- 
man city,  near  old  friends  ;  it  is  true,  they  mayn't  be  all  you 
want,  but  anything  is  better  than  nothing,  and  you  would  stag- 
nate and  moulder  all  away  at  Vevay.  What  is  there  there  ? 
Why,  a  lake  and  some  mountains,  and  you  can!t  spend  a  year 
staring  at  them.  Well,  I  dare  say  light  will  be  let  in  upon  you. 
I  hope  A.  will  behave  herself  ;  you  must  rule  it  over  her  with  a 
rod  of  iron  (as  if  you  could!),  and  make  her  stand  round. 
Her  going  plunges  us  into  a  new  world  of  care  and  anxiety 
and  tribulation  ;  we  have  thrust  our  children  out  into,  or  on 
to,  the  great  ocean,  and  are  about  ready  to  sink  with  them.  If 
I  could  sit  down  and  cry,  it  would  do  me  lots  of  good,  but  I 
can't.  Then  how  am  I  to  spare  my  twin-boy,  and  my  A.  and 
my  M.  ?  Who  is  to  keep  me  well  snubbed  ?  Who  is  to  tell  me 
what  to  wear?  Who  is  to  keep  Darby  and  Joan  from  settling 
down  into  two  fearful  old  pokes  ? 

Your  husband  suggests  that  "if  I  have  a  husband,  etc."  I 
have  had  one  with  a  vengeance.  He  has  worked  like  seventeen 
mad  dogs  all  summer,  and  I  have  hardly  laid  eyes  on  him. 
When  I  have,  it  has  been  to  fight  with  him  ;  he  would  come  in 
with  a  hoe  or  a  rake  or  a  spade  in  his  hand,  and  find  me  with 
a  broom,  a  shovel,  or  a  pair  of  tongs  in  mine,  and  without  a 
ivord  wc  would   pitch   in  and  have  an  encounter.     Of  all  the 


STEPPING   HEAVENWARD.  2/0 

aggravating  creatures,  hasn't  he  been  aggravating !  Some- 
times  I  thought  he  had  run  raving  distracted,  and  sometimes 
I  dare  say,  he  thouglit  I  had  gone  melancholy  mad.  He  per 
sists  to  this  day  that  the  work  did  him  good,  and  tliat  he  en 
joyed  his  summer.  Well,  maybe  he  did  ;  I  suppose  he  knows. 
How  glad  I  am  for  you  that  you  are  to  have  the  children 
go  to  you.  It  seems  to  be  exactly  the  right  thing.  I  hope  to 
get  a  copy  of  Katy  to  send  by  the  girls,  but  can't  think  of  any- 
thing else.  As  A.  is  to  be  where  you  are,  you  will  probably  be 
kept  well  posted  in  the  doings  of  our  family.  I  do  hope  she  will 
not  be  a  great  addition  to  your  cares,  but  have  some  misgiv- 
ings as  to  the  effect  so  long  absence  from  home  may  have  upon 
her.     What  a  world  this  is  for  shiftings  and  siftings  ! 

I  always  thought  George  McDonald  a  little  audacious, 
To  G  S  P  though  I  like  him  in  the  main.  There  is  a  fallac}"  in 
October,  this  cavil,  you  may  depend.  Some  years  ago,  when  I 
was  a  little  befogged  by  plausible  talk,  Dr.  Skinner 
came  to  our  house,  got  into  one  of  his  best  moods,  and 
preached  a  regular  sermon  on  the  glory  of  God,  that  set  me 
all  right  again.  I  am  not  skilled  in  argument,  but  my  heart 
sides  with  God  in  everything,  and  my  conception  of  His  char- 
acter is  such  a  beautiful  one  that  I  feel  that  He  can  not  err,  I 
do  not  like  the  expression,  "  He's  aye  thinking  about  his  own 
glory"  (I  quote  from  memor}-)  ;  it  belittles  the  real  fact,  and 
almost  puts  the  Supreme  Being  on  a  level  with  us  poor  mortals 
The  more  time  we  spend  upon  our  knees,  in  real  communion 
with  God,  the  better  we  shall  comprehend  His  wonderful 
nature,  and  how  impossible  it  is  to  submit  that  nature  to  the. 
rules  by  which  we   judge  human  beings.     Every  turn  in  life 

brings   me  back   to   this — jnore  prayer I    shall   go   v/itli 

much  pleasure  to  see  Mrs.  G.  and  maj^  God  give  me  some  good 
word  to  say  to  her.  I  almost  envy  you  your  sphere  of  useful- 
ness, but  unless  I  give  up  mine,  can  not  get  fully  into  it.  I 
want  you  to  know  that  next  to  being  with  my  Saviour,  I  love 
to  be  with  His  sufferers  ;  so  that  you  can  be  sure  to  remember 

me,  when  you  have  any  on  your  heart P.  S.   I  have  hunted 

up  Mrs.  G.  and  had  such  an  interesting  talk  with  her  that  she  has 
hardly  been  out  of  my  mind  since.  It  is  a  very  unusual  case, 
ind    the   fact   that  her  husband  is  a   Jew,  and   loves  her  witl' 


28o  THE   LIFE    OF   MRS.  PRENTISS. 

such  real  romance,  is  an  obstacle  in  her  way  to  Christ.  When 
you  can  get  a  little  spare  time  I  wish  you  would  run  in  and  let 
us  talk  her  case  over.  I'm  ever  so  glad  that  I'm  growing  old 
every  day,  and  so  becoming  better  fitted  to  be  the  dear  and 
loving  friend  to  young  people  I  want  to  be. 

I  wish  we  both  loved  our  Saviour  better,  and  could  do  more 
for  Him.  The  days  in  which  I  do  nothing  specifically  for  Him 
seem  such  meagre,  such  lost  days.  You  seemed  to  think,  the 
last  time  I  saw  you,  that  you  were  not  so  near  Him  as  you 
were  last  year.  I  think  we  can't  always  know  our  own  state. 
It  does  not  follow  that  a  season  of  severe  conflict  is  a  sign  of 
estrangement  from  God.  Perhaps  we  are  never  dearer  to  Him 
than  when  we  hate  ourselves  most,  and  fancy  ourselves  intoler- 
able in  His  sight.     Conflict  isnt  sin. 

I  hear  with  great  concern  that  Miss  Lyman's  health  is  so 
To  Miss  E  ^^ch  worse,  that  she  is  about  to  leave  Vassar.  Is 
A.  Warner,  this  true  ?     I  Can  not  say  I  should  be  very  sorry  if  I 

New  York,     ,,,,  ,  .  .  n-i  i.-i  x 

October  ii,  should  hear  she  was  gomg  to  be  called  up  higher.  It 
^^^'  seems  such  a  blessed  thing  to  finish  up  one's  work 
when  the  Master  says  we  may,  and  going  to  be  with  Him.  I 
can  fully  sympathise  with  the  feeling  that  made  Mrs.  Graham 
say,  as  she  closed  her  daughter's  eyes,  "I  wish  you  joy,  my 
darling  !  "  But  I  should  want  to  see  her  before  she  went ; 
that  would  be  next  best  to  seeing  her  after  she  got  back.  If 
you  meet  with  a  dear  little  book  called  "  The  Melody  of  the 
23d  Psalm,"  do  read  it ;  it  is  by  Miss  Anna  Warner,  and  shows 
great  knowledge  of,  and  love  for,  the  Bible.  In  a  few  weeks  I 
shall  be  able  to  send  you  a  copy  of  Stepping  Heavenward. 

We  have  been  home  rather  more  than  a  week  and  Ihe  house 
is  all  upside  down,  outwardly  and  inwardly.  For  A.  sails  for 
Europe  on  the  21st  with  M.  and  Hal  Smith,  to  be  gone  a  year, 
and  this  involves  sending  the  other  children  to  school,  and 
various  trying  changes  of  the  sort.  Tossing  my  long  sheltered 
lambs  into  the  world  has  cost  me  inexpressible  pain  ;  only  a 
mother  can  understand  how  much  and  why  ;  and  they,  on  their 
part,  go  into  it  shrinking  and  quivering  in  every  nerve.  Tc 
V  their  father,  as  well  as  to  me,  this  has  been  a  time  of  sore  trial 
and  we  are  doing  our  best  to  keep  each  other  up  amid  the  dis 


STEPPING   HEAVENWARD.  28 1 

coiiragements  and  temptations  that  confront  us.    For  each  new 
phase  of  life  brings  more  or  less  of  both. 

Stepping  Heavenward  was  published  toward  the  end  o( 
October,  having  appeared  already  as  a  serial  in  the  Chicago 
Advance.  The  first  number  of  the  serial  was  printed  February 
4,  1869.  Thev/ork  was  planned  and  the  larger  part  of  it  com- 
posed during  the  winter  and  spring  of  1867-8.  Referring 
more  especially  to  this  part  of  it,  she  once  said  to  a  friend  : 
''  Every  word  of  that  book  was  a  prayer,  and  seemed  to  conie 
of  itself.  I  never  knew  how  it  was  written,  for  my  heart  and 
hands  were  full  of  something  else."  By  ''  something  else  "  she 
had  in  mind  the  care  of  little  Francis.  The  ensuing  summer 
the  manuscript  was  taken  with  her  to  Dorset,  carefully  revised 
and  finished  before  her  return  to  the  city.  In  revising  it  she 
had  the  advantage  of  suggestions  made  by  her  friends,  Miss 
Warner  and  Miss  Lyman,  both  of  them  Christian  ladies  of  the 
best  culture  and  of  rare  good  sense. 

Notwithstanding  the  favor  with  which  the  work  had  been 
received  as  issued  in  The  Advance,  Mrs.  Prentiss  had  great 
misgiving  about  its  success — a  misgiving  that  had  haunted 
her  while  engaged  in  writing  it.  But  all  doubt  on  the  subject 
was  soon  dispelled : 

The  response  to  "Stepping  Heavenward"  was  instant  and  general. 
Others  of  her  books  were  enjoyed,  praised,  laughed  over,  but  this  one  was 
taken  by  tired  hands  into  secret  places,  pored  over  by  eyes  dim  with  tears 
and  its  lessons  prayed  out  at  many  a  Jabbok.  It  was  one  of  those  books 
which  sorrowing,  Mary-like  women  read  to  each  other,  and  which  lured 
many  a  bustling  Martha  from  the  fretting  of  her  care-cumbered  life  to  pon- 
der the  new  lesson  of  rest  in  toil.  It  was  one  of  those  books  of  which 
people  kept  a  lending  copy,  that  they  might  enjoy  the  uninterrupted  com- 
panionship of  their  own.  The  circulation  of  the  book  was  very  ku-ge.  Not 
to  speak  of  the  thousands  which  were  sold  here,  it  went  through  numerous 
editions  in  England.  From  England  it  passed  into  Australia.  It  fell  into 
the  family  of  an  aftlicted  Swi  s  pastor,  and  the  comfort  which  it  brought  to 
that  stricken  household  led  to  its  translation  into  Frencii  by  one  of  the  pas- 
tor's daughters.  It  passed  through  I  know  not  how  many  editions  in 
French.'     In  Germany  it  came  into  the  hands  of  an  invalid  lady  who  beg- 

'  Marchant  vers  le  del  is  the  title  of  the  !•" reach  translation. 


282  THE   LIFE   OF    MRS.    PRENTISS. 

ged   the  privilege  of  translating  it.     The  first  word  of  a  favoi.te  German 

hymn, 

"  Heavenward  doth  our  journey  tend  ; 
We  are  strangers  here  on  earth," 

furnished  the  title  for  the  German  translation—"  Himmelan."  It  appeared 
just  after  the  French  war,  and  went  as  a  comforter  into  scores  of  the  homes 
which  war  had  desolated,  and  frequent  testimony  came  back  to  her  of  the 
deep  interest  excited  by  the  book,  and  of  the  affectionate  gratitude  called 
out  toward  the  author.  She  seemed  to  have  inspired  her  translator,  whose 
letters  to  her  breathe  the  warmest  affection  and  the  most  enthusiastic  ad- 
miration. It  would  be  easy  to  till  up  the  time  that  remains  with  grateful 
testimonies  to  the  work  of  this  book.  From  among  a  multitude  I  select 
only  one:  A  manufacturer  in  a  New  England  town,  a  stranger,  wrote  to 
her  expressing  his  high  appreciation  of  the  book,  and  saying  that  he  had 
four  thousand  persons  in  his  employ,  and  a  circulating  library  of  six 
thousand  volumes  for  their  use,  in  which  were  two  copies  of  "  Stepping 
Heavenward."  He  adds,  "  I  hear  in  every  direction  of  the  good  it  is  doing^ 
and  a  wealthy  friend  has  written  to  me  saying  that  she  means  to  put  a  copy 
into  the  hand  of  every  bride  of  her  acquaintance."  ^ 

Several  chapters  might  be  filled  with  letters  received  by 
Mrs.  Prentiss,  expressing  the  gratitude  of  the  writers  for  the 
spiritual  help  and  comfort  Stepping  Heavenward  had  given 
them.  These  letters  came  from  all  parts  of  this  country,  from 
Europe,  and  even  from  the  ends  of  the  earth  ;  and  they  were 
written  by  persons  belonging  to  every  class  in  society.  Among 
them  was  one,  written  on  coarse  brown  grocery  paper,  from  a 
poor  crippled  boy  in  the  interior  of  Pennsylvania,  which  she 
especially  prized.  It  led  to  a  friendly  correspondence  that 
continued  for  several  years.  The  book  was  read  with  equal 
delight  by  persons  not  onty  of  all  classes,  but  of  all  creeds 
also;  by  Calvinists,  Arminians,  High  Churchmen,  Evangeli- 
cals,  Unitarians,    and    Roman    Catholics.'     It    was,   however, 

'  Memorial  discourse  by  the  Rev.  Marvin  R.  Vincent,  D.D. 

"  The  following  is  an  extract  from  a  letter,  dated  New  Orleans,  and  written  after  Mrs. 
Prentiss'  death  : 

"We  called  one  day  to  see  a  poor  dressmaker  who  was  dying  of  consumption.  Slie 
was  an  educated  woman,  a  devout  Roman  Catholic,  and  a  person  whom  we  had  long  x-t- 
fc-pected  and  esteemed  for.  her  integrity,  her  love  of  independence,  and  her  extraordinaty 
powers  of  endurance.  Her  husband,  a  prosperous  merchant,  had  died  suddenly,  and  his 
dffairs  being  mismanaged,  she  was  obliged,  although  a  constant  invalid,  to  earn  a  sup- 
port for  many  years  by  the  most  unremitting  labor.  We  found  her  leading  'Stepping 
Heavenward,'  which  she  spoke  of  in  the  warmest  terms.     We  told  her  about  the  au 


STEPPING    ITFAVENWARD.  2S3 

wholly  unnoticed  by  most  of  the  organs  of  Htcrary  opinion 
in  this  countiy ;  although  abroad  it  attracted  at  once  tlie  at 
tention  of  men  and  women  well  known  in  the  world  of  letters 
and  was  praised  by  them  in  the  highest    terms.' 

Miss  Eliza  A.  Warner,  in  the  following  Reminiscences^ 
gives  some  interesting  incidents  in  reference  to  Stepping 
Hcavcmvard. 

That  summer  in  Dorset — the  summer  of  1868 — is  one  full  of  hxv^^\  and 
pleasant  memories  which  it  is  delightful  to  recall.  I  had  heard  much  of 
Mrs.  Prentiss  from  mutual  friends,  and  been  exceedingly  interested  in  her 
books,  so  that  when  I  found  we  were  to  be  fellow-boarders  for  the  summer 
I  was  greatly  pleased  ;  yet  I  felt  a  little  shy  at  meeting  one  of  whose  su- 
periority in  many  lines  1  had  heard  so  much. 

How  well  I  remember  that  bright  morning  in  July  on  which  we  fust 
met  on  our  way  to  the  breakfast-table  !  I  can  hear  now  the  frank,  cheery 
voice  with  which  she  greeted  me,  and  see  her  large  dark  eyes,  so  full  ol 
animation  and  kindly  interest,  which  a  moment  after  sparkled  with  fun  as 
she  recalled  an  old  joke  familiar  to  my  friends,  and,  it  seemed,  to  her  also. 
I  was  put  at  my  ease  at  once,  and  from  that  moment  onward  felt  the  won- 
derful fascination  of  a  manner  so  peculiarly  her  own  ;  it  was  a  frank,  whule- 
souled,  sincere  manner,  with  a  certain  indescribable  piquancy  and  spri^ht- 
liness  blending  with  the  earnestness  which  made  her  ver>'  individual  and 
very  charming. 

For  the  next  two  months  we  were  a  good  deal  together.  I  think  it  was 
a  very  happy  summer  to  her.  You  were  building  the  house  in  Dorset  for  a 
summer  home,  and  the  planning  for  this  and  watching  its  progress  was  a 
pleasant  occupation.  And  she  was  such  an  enthusiastic  lover  of  nature 
that  the  out-of-door  life  she  led  was  a  constant  enjoyment.  She  would 
spend  hours  rambling  in  the  woods,  collecting  ferns,  mosses,  trailing  vines, 
and  every  lovely  bit  of  blossom  and  greenery  that  met  her  eye— and  noth- 
ing pretty  escaped  it— and  there  was  always  an  added  freshness  and  brij^ht- 
ness  in  her  face  when  she  came  home  laden  with  these  treasures,  and  eai^u-r 
to  exhibit  them.  "Oh,  you  don't  go  crazy  over  such  thini^s  as  1  do,"  she 
vvould  say  as  she  held  them  up  for  our  admiration.  She  filled  her  room 
with  these  woodland  beauties,  and  pressed  quantities  of  them  10  carry  to 
her  city  home. 

thoress,  of  her  suffering  from  ill-health,  and  of  her  recent  death.  She  listened  caperly 
and  asked  questions  which  showed  tlie  deepest  interest  in  the  subject.  Soon  after  sh« 
left  the  city,  and  a  few  weeks  later  we  heard  of  her  death." 

1  One  of  them— said  to  have  been  an  eminent  German  thcolopnan— used  this  strong 
language  respecting  it :  "  Schon  nianche  gute,  edle,  segcu^rciche  Gabc  isl  uns  aus  Nord- 
Emerika  gekommen,  aber  wir  stehen  nicht  an,  diese  als  die  bcste  zu  bezcichncn  untei 
alien,  die  uns  von  dort  zu  G'-sichtc  gekommen." 


284  'THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

In  that  beautiful  valley  among  the  Green  Mountains,  some  of  whose 
near  summits  rise  to  the  height  of  three  thousand  feet,  her  enthusiasm  foi 
fine  sceneiy  had  full  scope.  She  would  watch  with  delight  the  sunset  glow 
as  it  spread  and  deepened  along  those  mountain  peaks,  suffusing  then  with 
a  glory  which  we  likened  to  that  of  the  New  Jerusalem  ;  and  as  we  sat  and 
watched  this  glory  slowly  fade,  tint  by  tint,  into  the  gray  twilight,  her  talk 
would  be  of  heaven  and  holiness  and  Christ. 

Whatever  she  felt,  she  felt  intensely,  and  she  threw  her  whole  heart  and 
soul  into  all  she  said  or  did  ;  this  was  one  gre-t  secret  of  the  power  of  her 
personal  presence ;  she  felt  so  keenly  herself,  she  made  others  feel. 

Those  summer  days  were  long  and  bright  and  beautiful,  but  none  too 
long  for  her.  She  was  one  of  the  most  industrious  persons  I  have  ever 
known,  and  her  writing,  reading  and  sewing,  and  the  care  of  her  children, 
over  the  formation  of  whose  characters  she  watched  closely  and  wisely,  oc- 
cupied every  moment  of  her  time,  except  when  she  was  out  of  doors,  try- 
ing by  exercise  in  the  open  air  to  secure  a  good  night's  sleep ;  not  an  easy 
thing  for  her  to  do  in  those  days. 

Early  in  August  we  were  joined  by  Miss  Hannah  Lyman,  of  Vassar 
College,  a  mutual  friend  and  a  most  delightful  addition  to  our  little  party. 

We  knew  Mrs.  Prentiss  spent  a  part  of  every  day  in  writing,  but  she 
said  nothing  of  the  nature  of  her  work.  Do  you  remember  coming  into  the 
parlor  one  morning,  where  Miss  Lyman  and  I  were  sitting  by  ourselves,  and 
telling  us  that  she  was  writing  a  story,  but  had  become  so  discouraged  she 
threatened  to  throw  it  aside  as  not  worth  finishing.?  "  I  like  it  myself,"  you 
added,  "  it  really  seems  to  me  one  of  the  best  things  she  has  ever  written, 
and  I  am  iry'mg  to  get  her  to  read  it  to  you  and  see  what  you  think  of  it." 

Of  course,  both  Miss  Lyman  and  myself  were  eager  to  hear  it,  and 
promised  to  tell  her  frankly  how  we  liked  it.  The  next  morning  she  came 
to  our  room  with  a  little  green  box  in  her  hand,  saying,  with  her  merry 
laugh,  "  Now  you've  got  to  do  penance  for  your  sins,  you  two  wicked 
women  !  "  and,  sitting  down  by  the  window,  while  we  took  our  sewing,  she 
began  to  read  us  in  manuscript  the  work  which  was  destined  to  touch  and 
strengthen  so  many  hearts — "  which,"  to  use  the  w^ords  of  another,  "  has 
become  a  part  of  the  soul-history  of  many  thousands  of  Christian  women — 
young  and  old — at  home  and  abroad." 

It  was  a  rare  treat  to  listen  to  it,  with  comments  from  her  interspersed; 
some  of  them  droll  and  witty,  others  full  of  profound  religious  feeling.  Now 
and  then,  as  we  queried  if  something  was  not  improbable  or  unnatural,  she 
would  give  us  bits  of  history  from  her  own  ex;  erience  or  that  of  her  friends 
going  to  show  that  stranger  things  had  occurred  in  real  life.  I  need  not 
say  we  insisted  on  its  being  finished,  feeling  sure  it  would  do  great  good  ; 
though  I  must  confess  that  I  do  not  think  either  of  us,  much  as  we  enjoyed 
t,  A-as  fully  aware  of  its  great  merits. 

I  was  much  impressed  by  her  singleness  of  purpose  ;  her  one  grea   de 


ST  E  P  P I N  G    1 1 F.  A  V  K  X  W  ART).  285 

sire  so  evidently  being  that  her  writings  should  help  others  to  know  and 
to  love  Christ  and  His  truth,  that  she  thought  little  or  nothing  of  her  owr 
reputation. 

She  went  on  with  her  work,  occasionally  reading  to  us  what  she  hac 
added.  In  those  days  she  always  spoke  of  it  as  her  "  Katy  book,"  no  other 
title  having  been  given  to  it.  But  one  morning  she  came  to  the  breakfast- 
table  with  her  face  all  lighted  up.  "  I've  got  a  name  for  my  book,"  she  ex- 
claimed ;  "it  came  to  me  while  I  was  lying  awake  last  night.  You  know 
Wordsworth's  Stepping  Westward  ?  I  am  going  to  call  it  Stepping 
Heavenward — don't  you  like  it.^  I  do."  We  all  felt  it  was  exactly  the 
right  name,  and  she  added,  "  I  think  I  will  put  in  W^ordsworlh's  poem  as  a 
preface." 

Of  the  heart-communings  on  sacred  things  that  made  that  summer  so 
memorable  to  me  I  can  not  speak  ;  and  yet,  more  than  anything  else,  these 
gave  a  distinctive  character  to  our  intercourse.  Her  faith  and  Io\e  were  so 
ardent  and  persuading,  so  much  a  part  of  herself,  that  no  one  could  be  with 
her  without  recognising  their  power  over  her  life.  She  was  interested  in 
everything  about  her,  without  a  particle  of  cant,  full  of  playful  humor  and 
bright  fancies  ;  but  the  love  of  Christ  was  the  absorbing  interest  of  her  life 
— almost  a  passion,  it  might  be  called,  so  fervent  and  rapturous  was  her  de- 
votion to  Him,  so  great  her  longing  for  communion  with  Him  and  for  a 
more  complete  conformity  to  His  perfect  will. 

As  I  have  said,  all  her  emotions  were  intense  and  her  religious  affections 
had  the  same  warmth  and  glow.  Believing  in  Christ  was  to  her  not  so 
much  a  duty  as  the  deepest  joy  of  her  life,  heightening  all  other  joys,  and 
she  was  not  satisfied  until  her  friends  shared  with  her  in  this  experience. 
She  believed  it  to  be  attainable  by  all,  founded  on  a  complete  submitting  ol 
the  human  to  the  Divine  will  in  all  things,  great  and  small. 

Truly  of  her  it  might  be  said,  if  of  any  human  being,  "  s/if  haih  Icrjea 
much" 

Your  arrangements  at  Heidelberg  seem  to  me  to  be  as  de- 
lightful as  anything  can  be  in  a  world  where  nothing 
i;vii(h',     is  ideal.     Be  sure  to  let  A.  bear  her  full  share  of  the 
^Xot^.ie''  expense,  and  be  a  mother  to  her  if  you  can.    The  gay- 
1869.      gst  outside  life  has  an  undertone  of  sadness,  and  I  do 
not  doubt  she  will  have  hours  of  unrest  which  she  will  hardly 
know  how  to   account   for.     I   am   afraid    Heidelberg  will   be 
rather  narrow  bounds  for  your  husband,  and  hope  he  may  de- 
cide to  go  to  Egypt  in  case  his  ear  gets  quite  well.     I  low  for- 
tunate that  he  is  near  a  really  good  aurist.     I  am  always  nerv- 
ous about  car-troubles.     Fancy  your  having  to  shout  your  love 
Ko  him  !     In  a  letter  written  about  two  weeks  ago,  Miss  Lymar 


286  THE    LIFE    OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

says,  •*  How  am  I  ?  Longing  for  a  corner  in  which  to  stop  try- 
ing to  live,  and  lie  down  and  die,"  and  adds  that  she  is  now  toe 
feeble  to  travel.  I  suppose  she  is  liable  to  break  down  at  any 
moment,  but  I  do  hope  she  won't  be  left  to  go  abroad.  I  judge 
from  what  you  say  of  Mr.  H.  that  he  is  slipping  off.  I  always 
look  at  people  who  are  going  to  heaven  with  a  sort  of  curiosity 
and  envy  ;  it  is  next  best  to  seeing  one  who  has  just  come 
thence.  Get  all  the  good  out  of  him  you  can  ;  there  is  none 
too  much  saintliness  on  earth.  I  wonder  how  you  spend  your 
time  ?  Do,  some  time,  write  the  history  of  one  day  ;  what  you 
said  to  that  funny  cook,  and  what  she  said  to  you  ;  what  you 
thought  and  what  you  did  ;  and  what  you  didn't  think  and 
didn't  did. 

Friday^  \()th. — Thanksgiving  has  come  and  gone  beautifulty. 
It  was  a  perfect  day  as  to  weather.  Our  congregation  joined 
Dr.  Murray's,  and  he  gave  us  an  excellent  sermon.  The  four 
Stearnses  came  in  to  dinner  and  seemed  to  enjoy  it.  I  suppose 
you  all  celebrated  the  day  in  Yankee  fashion  and  got  up  those 

abominations — mince  pies.    When  I  told  L.  about 's  fourth 

marriage,  he  said  it  reminded  him  of  a  place  he  had  seen, 
where  a  man  lay  buried  in  the  midst  of  a  lot  of  women,  the 
sole    inscription    on    his    gravestone    being    "Our    Husband." 

Mrs. says  the  tiffs  between  my  Katy  and  her  husband  are 

exactly  like  those  she  had  with  hers,  and  Mrs. said  very 

much  the  same  thing — after  hearing  which,  I  gave  up. 

Tell  A.  I  had  a  call  yesterday  from  Mrs.  S ,  who  came  to 

town  to  spend  Thanksgiving  at  her  father's,  and  fell  upon  my 
neck  and  ate  me  up  three  several  times.  I  tell  you  Avhat  it  is, 
it's  nice  to  have  people  love  you,  whether  you  deserve  it  or  not, 
and  this  warm-hearted,  enthusiastic  creature  really  did  me 
good.  Dr.  Skinner  sent  us  an  extraordinary  book  to  read 
called  "God's  Frrnacc."  There  is  a  good  deal  of  egotism  in 
it  and  self-consciousness,  and  a  good  deal  of  genuine  Christian 
experience.  I  read  it  through  four  times,  and,  when  I  carried 
it  back  and  was  discussing  it  with  him,  he  said  he  had  too.  It 
seems  almost  incredible  that  a  wholly  sanctified  character  could 
publish  such  a  book,  made  up  as  it  is  of  the  author's  own  let- 
ters and  journal  and  most  sacred  joys  and  sorrows  ;  but  per- 
haps when  I  get  sanctified  I  shall  go  to  printing  mine— it 
really  seems  to  be  a  way  they  have.     The   Hitchcocks  sailed 


STEPPING   HEAVENWARD.  287 

yesterday,  and  it  must  have  cheered  them  to  set  forth  on  sc 
very  tine  a  day.  Give  my  love  to  everybody  straight  througli 
from  Hal  up  to  your  husband  and  Mr.  H. 

Later. — Of  course,  my  letters  to  A.  are  virtually  to  you,  too 
as  far  as  you  can  be  interested  in  the  little  details  of  which 
they  are  made  up.  Randolph  showed  George  a  letter  about 
Katy,  which  he  says  beats  anything  w^e  have  heard  yet,  which 
is  saying  a  good  deal.  One  lady  said  Earnest  was  exactly  like 
her  husband,  another  that  he  was  painfully  so  ;  indeed,  many 
sore  hearts  are  making  such  confessions.  So  I  begin  to  think 
there  is  even  more  sorrowfulness  and  unrest  in  the  world  than 
I  thought  there  was.  You  would  get  sick  unto  death  of  the 
book  if  I  should  tell  a  quarter  of  what  w^e  hear  about  it,  good 
and  bad.  It  quite  refreshed  me  to  hear  that  a  young  lady 
wanted  to  punch  me. 

Craig's  Life  is  very  touching.  His  delight  in  Christ  and  in 
close  fellowship  with  Him  is  beautiful  ;  but  it  is  painful  to  see 
that  dying  man  wandering  about  Europe  alone,  when  he  ought 
to  have  been  breathing  out  his  life  in  the  arms  he  loved  so 
well.  How  did  poor  Mrs.  C.  live  through  the  week  of  sus- 
pense that  followed  the  telegram  announcing  his  illness  ?  for 
one  must  love  such  a  man  very  deeply,  I  think.  Well,  lie 
doesn't  care  now  where  he  died  or  when,  and  he  has  gone 
where  he  belonged.  I  miss  you  all  ever  so  much,  and  George 
keeps  up  one  constant  howl  for  your  husband.  It  is  a  m3'stery 
to  me  what  any  of  you  find  in  my  letters,  they  do  seem  so  flat 
to  me.  What  fun  it  would  be  if  you  would  all  write  mc  a 
round  letter  !     I  would  write  a  rouser  for  it.     Lots  of  love. 

The  Rev.  Wheelock  Craig,  \vhosc  Life  is  referred  to  by  Mrs. 
Prentiss  in  the  preceding  letter,  was  her  husband's  successor 
in  the  pastorate  of  the  South  Trinitarian  church,  New  Bed- 
ford.' 

1  See  A  Memorial  of  the  Character,  Work,  and  Closing  Days  of  Rev.  Wlieoli'ck  Craig, 
New  Bedford. 

Mr.  Craig:  was  born  in  Augusta,  Maine,  July  11,  1824.  He  entered  Bowdoin  Collc^^e 
{\\  1839,  and  was  gfraduated  with  honor  in  the  class  of  18^3.  He  then  entered  the  Tlico 
logical  Seminary  at  Bangor,  where  he  graduated  in  18^7.  After  preacliing  a  couple  of 
years  at  New  Castle,  Me.,  he  accepted  a  call  to  New  Bedford,  and  was  in.-lallcd  there 
December  4,  1850.  In  1859  he  received  a  ^all  to  the  chair  of  Modern  Languages  in  Bow. 
doin  College,  which  he  declined.  After  an  earnest  and  faithful  ministry  of  more  than 
seventeen  years,  he  went  abroad   for  liis  health  in  May,  1S6S.     He  \isited  Ireland,  En- 


2SS  THE   LIFE   OF  MRS.   PRENTISS. 

V. 

Recollections  by  Mrs.  Henry  B.  Smith. 

The  following  Recollections  from  the  pen  of  Mrs.  Smith 
may  fitly  close  the  present  chapter: 

Northampton,  January  2,  1879. 

My  Dear  Dr.  Prentiss  : — I  have  been  trying  this  beautiful  snowy  day, 
which  shuts  us  in  to  our  own  thoughts,  to  recall  some  of  my  impressions  ot 
your  dear  wife,  but  I  find  it  very  difficult ;  there  was  such  variety  to  her,  and 
«o  much  of  her,  and  the  things  which  were  most  characteristic  are  so  hard 
to  be  described. 

I  read  "Stepping  Heavenward"  in  MS.  before  we  went  to  Europe  in 
1869.  I  remember  she  used  to  say  that  I  was  "  Katy's  Aunt,"  because  we 
talked  her  over  with  so  much  interest.  She  sent  me  a  copy  to  Heidelberg, 
where  I  began  at  once  translating  it  into  German  as  my  regular  exercise.  I 
was  delighted  to  give  my  copy  to  Mrs.  Prof.  K.  in  Leipsic,  as  the  American 

gland,  Scotland,  and  then  passing  over  to  the  Continent,  travelled  through  Belgium, 
Holland,  Switzerland,  and  so  southward  as  far  as  Naples,  where  he  arrived  the  last  ol 
September.  Here  he  was  taken  seriously  ill,  and  advised  to  hasten  bade  to  Switzerland. 
In  great  weakness  he  passed  through  Rome,  Florence,  Turin,  Geneva,  and  reached  Neu- 
chatel  on  the  4th  of  November  in  a  state  of  utter  exhaustion.  There,  encompassed  by 
newly-made  friends  and  tenderly  cared  for,  he  gently  breathed  bis  last  on  the  2Sth  of 
November.  Two  names,  in  particular,  deserve  to  be  gratefully  mentioned  in  connection 
with  Mr.  Craig's  last  hours,  viz.  :  that  of  his  countryman,  Mr.  W.  C.  Cabot,  and  that  of 
the  Rev.  Dr.  Godet,  of  Neuchatel.  Of  the  former  he  said  the  day  before  his  death  :  "  He 
saw  me  coming  from  Geneva  a  perfect  stranger— lying  sick,  helpless,  wretched,  and  mis- 
erable in  the  cars— and  spoke  to  me,  inquired  who  I  was,  and  took  care  of  me.  Anybody 
else  would  have  gone  by  on  the  other  side.  He  brought  me  to  this  hotel,  and  remained 
with  me,  and  did  everything  for  me  ;  and,  fearing  that  I  might  be  ill  some  time,  and  un- 
easy about  money  matters,  he  sent  me  a  letter  of  credit  for  two  hundred  pounds.  Such 
noble  and  generous  conduct  to  an  entire  stranger  was  never  heard  of."  To  Dr.  Godet 
he  had  a  letter  from  Prof.  Henry  B.  Smith,  of  New  York.  But  he  needed  no  other  in- 
troduction to  that  warm-hearted  and  eminent  servant  of  God  than  his  sad  condition  and 
his  love  to  Christ.  "  From  the  first  quarter  of  an  hour,"  wrote  Dr.  Godet  to  Mrs.  Craig, 
"  we  were  like  two  brothers  who  had  known  each  other  from  infancy.  He  knew  not  a 
great  deal  of  1-rench,  and  I  not  more  of  English ;  but  tlie  Lord  was  between  him  and 
iiie."  "  Prof.  Godet  and  family  are  like  the  very  angels  of  God,"  wrote  Mr.  Craig  to  his 
wife.  His  last  days  were  li'.ied  with  inexpressible  joy  in  his  God  and  Saviour.  Shortly 
before  his  departure  he  said  to  Dr.  Godet  and  tlie  other  friends  who  were  by  his  bedside, 
"  There  shall  be  no  night  there,  but  the  Lavib  ivhich  is  in  t/ie  midst  o/ihe  throne  shall 
be  their  light. ''^ 

Mr.  Craig  had  a  highly  poetical  nature,  refined  spiritual  sensibihties,  and  a  -oul  glow- 
mgwith  love  to  his  Master,  He  was  also  a  vigorous  and  original  thinker.  Some  pas- 
sages in  his  letters  and  journal  are  as  racy  and  striking  as  anything  in  John  Newton  01 
Cecil.  Mrs.  Prentiss  greatly  enjoyed  reading  them  to  her  friends.  Some  of  them  she 
copied  and  had  published  in  the  Association  Monthly. 


STEPPING   HEAVENWARD.  2.So 

story  which  I  was  willing  to  have  her  translate  into  German,  as  she  had 
asked  for  one.  There  is  no  need  of  telling  you  about  the  enthusiasm  which 
the  book  created.  Women  everywhere  said,  "  It  seems  to  be  myself  that  I 
am  reading  about";  and  the  feeling  that  they,  too,  with  all  their  imperfec- 
tions, might  be  really  stepping  heavenward,  was  one  great  secret  of  its  in- 
spiration. One  little  incident  may  interest  you.  My  niece,  Mrs.  Prof  Em- 
erson, was  driving  alone  toward  Amherst,  and  took  into  her  carriajje  a 
poor  colored  woman  who  was  walking  the  same  way.  The  woman  s<^on 
said,  "I  have  l^een  thinking  a  good  deal  of  you,  Mrs.  E.,  and  of  your  lillle 
children,  and  I  have  been  reading  a  book  which  I  thought  you  would  like. 
It  was  something  about  walking  towards  heaven."  "  Was  it  '  Stepping 
Heavenward   }  "     "  Yes,  that  was  it." 

How  naturally,  modestly,  almost  indifferently,  she  received  the  tributes 
which  poured  in  upon  her  !  Yet,  though  she  cared  little  for  praise,  she 
cared  much  for  love,  and  for  the  consciousness  that  she  was  a  helper  and 
comforter  to  others. 

On  reading  the  book  again  this  last  summer,  I  was  struck  by  seeing  how 
true  a  transcript  of  herself,  in  more  than  one  respect,  was  given  in  Katy. 
•'  Why  can  not  I  make  a  jacket  for  my  baby  without  throwing  into  it  the 
ardor  of  a  soldier  going  into  battle  "i  "  How  ardently  she  threw  herself  into 
everything  she  did  !  In  friendship  and  love  and  religion  this  outpouring  of 
herself  was  most  striking. 

Her  earlier  books  she  always  read  or  submitted  to  me  in  manuscript,  and 
she  showed  so  little  self-interest  in  them,  and  I  so  much,  that  they  seemed 
a  sort  of  common  property.  I  think  that  I  had  quite  as  much  pleasure  in 
their  success  and  far  more  pride,  than  herself.  The  Susy  books  I  always 
considered  quite  as  superior  in  their  way  as  Stepping  Heavenward.  Tiiey 
are  still  peerless  among  books  for  little  children.  "  Henry  and  Bessie,"  too, 
contains  some  of  the  most  beautiful  religious  teaching  ever  written.  "  P'red 
and  Maria  and  Me"  she  used  to  talk  about  almost  as  if  I  had  written  it, 
for  no  other  reason  than  that  1  liked  it  so  much. 

My  sister  says  that  her  daughter  Nettie  read  "Little  Susy"  through 
twelve  times,  getting  up  to  read  it  before  breakHist.  Slie  printed  (before 
she  could  write)  a  little  letter  of  thanks  to  your  wife,  who  sent  her  the  fol- 
lowing pretty  note  in  reply  : 

New  York,  January  lo,  1S54. 
My  Dear  '•  Nettie  "  :— What  a  nice  little  letter  you  wrote  me  !     It  pleased  me  vcrr 
much.     I  shall  keep  it  in  my  desk,  and  when  I  am  an  old  woman,  I  shall  buy  a  jair  of 
spectacles,  and  sit  dowii  in  the  chimney-corner,  and  read  it.     When  you  learn  to  write 
with  your  own  little  fingers,  I  Lope  you  will  write  me  another  letter. 

Your  friend,  with  love,  AUNT  SUSAX. 

She  did  nothing  for  effect,  and  made  little  or  no  effort  merely  to  please; 
she  was  almost  too  careless  of  the  impression  which  she  made  upon  others, 
and,  on  this  account,  strangers  sometimes  thought  her  cold  and  unsympa- 
19 


290  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    FRENTISS. 

thetic.  But  touch  her  at  the  right  point  and  the  right  moment,  and  there 
was  no  measure  to  her  interest  and  warmth.  She  hated  all  pretense  and 
display,  and  the  slightest  symptom  of  them  in  others  shut  her  up  and  kept 
her  grave  and  silent,  and  this,  not  from  a  severe  or  Pharisaic  spirit,  but  be- 
cause the  atmosphere  was  so  foreign  to  her  that  she  could  not  live  in  it. 
"  I  pity  people  that  have  any  sham  about  them  when  I  am  by,"  she  said 
one  day.  "  I  am  dreadfully  afraid  of  young  ladies,"  she  said  at  another 
time.  vShe  could  not  adapt  herself  to  the  artificial  and  conventional.  Yet 
with  young  ladies  who  loved  what  she  loved  she  was  peculiarly  free  and 
playful  and  forth-giving,  and  such  were  among  her  dearest  and  most  lov- 
ingly admiring  friends. 

When  we  met,  there  were  no  pieHminaries  ;  she  plunged  at  once  into 
the  subject  which  was  hiteresting  her,  the  book,  the  person,  the  case  of 
sickness  or  trouble,  the  plan,  the  last  shopping,  the  game,  the  garment,  the 
new  preparation  for  the  table — in  a  way  peculiarly  her  own.  One  could 
never  be  with  her  many  minutes  without  hearing  some  bright  fancy,  some 
quick  stroke  of  repartee,  some  ludicrous  way  of  putting  a  thing.  But 
whether  she  told  of  the  grumbler  who  could  find  nothing  to  complain 
of  in  heaven  except  that  "  his  halo  didn't  fit,"  or  said  in  her  quick 
way,  when  the  plainness  of  a  lady's  dress  was  commended,  "  Why,  1 
didn't  suppose  that  anybody  could  go  to  heaven  now-a-days  without  an 
overskirt,"  or  wrote  her  sparkling  impromptu  rhymes  for  our  children's 
games,  her  mirth  was  all  in  harmony  with  her  earnest  life.  Her  quick  per- 
ceptions, her  droll  comparisons,  her  readiness  of  expression,  united  with 
her  rare  and  tender  sympathies,  made  her  the  most  fascinating  of  com- 
panions to  both  young  and  old.  Our  little  Saturday  teas  with  our  children, 
wliile  our  husbands  were  at  Chi  Alpha,  were  rare  times.  My  children  en- 
joyed "  Aunt  Lizzy  "  almost  as  much  as  I  did.  She  was  usually  in  her  best 
mood  at  these  times.  When  you  and  Henry  came  in,  on  your  return  from 
Chi  Alpha,  you  looked  in  upon,  or,  rather,  you  completed  a  happier  circle 
than  this  impoverished  earth  can  ever  show  us  again. 

Her  acquisitions  were  so  rapid,  and  she  made  so  little  show  of  them, 
that  one  might  have  doubted  their  thoroughness,  who  had  no  occasion  to 
test  them.  Her  beautiful  translation  of  Griselda  was  a  surprise  to  many. 
I  remember  her  eager  enthusiasm  while  translating  it.  The  writing  of  her 
books  was  almost  an  inspiration,  so  rapid,  without  copying,  almost  without 
alteration,  running  on  in  her  clear,  pure  style,  with  here  and  there  a  radiant 
sparkle  above  the  full  depths. 

It  sometimes  seemed  as  if  she  were  interested  only  in  those  whom  she 
l:new  she  could  benefit.  If  so,  it  was  from  her  ever-present  consciousness 
of  a  consecrated  hfe.  She  constantly  sought  for  v^-ays  of  showing  her  love 
to  Christ,  especially  to  His  sick  and  suffering  and  sorrowing  ones.  Life 
with  her  was  peculiarly  intense  and  earnest ;  she  looked  upon  it  more  as  a 
discipline  and  a  hard  path,  and  yet  no  one  had  a  quicker  or  more  admiring 


STEPPING    HEAVENWARD.  29I 

eye  for  the  flowers  by  the  wayside.  1  always  thought  that  her  great  forti 
was  the  study  of  character.  She  laid  bare  and  dissected  everybody,  even 
her  nearest  friends  and  herself,  to  find  what  was  in  them ;  and  what  she 
found,  reproduced  in  her  books,  was  what  gave  them  their  peculiar  ch  inn 
of  reality.  The  growth  of  the  religious  life  in  the  heart  was  the  one  mosl 
interesting  subject  to  her. 

I  never  could  fully  understand  the  deep  sadness  which  was  the  ground- 
work of  her  nature.  It  certainly  did  not  prevent  the  most  intense  enjoy- 
ment of  her  rich  temporal  and  spiritual  blessings,  while  it  indicated  depths 
which  her  friends  did  not  fathom.  It  was  partly  constitutional,  doubtless, 
and  partly,  I  suppose,  from  her  keener  sensitiveness,  her  larger  grasp,  her 
stronger  convictions,  her  more  vivid  vision,  and  more  ardent  desires.  Even 
the  glowing,  almost  seraphic  love  of  Christ  which  was  the  chief  character- 
istic of  her  later  life  was,  in  her  words,  "  but  longing  and  seeking."  She 
was  an  exile  yearning  for  her  home,  "  stepping  heavenward,"  and  knowing 
better  than  the  rest  of  us  what  it  meant. 

These  things  come  to  me  now,  and  yet  how  much  I  have  omitted  — her 
industry  so  varied  and  untiring,  her  generosity  (so  many  gifts  of  former 
days  are  around  me  now),  her  interest  in  my  children,  her  delight  in  flowers 
and  colors  and  all  benutiful  things,  her  ready  sympathy  —  but  it  is  an 
almost  inexhaustible  subject.  She  comes  vividly  before  me  now,  seated  on 
the  floor  in  her  room,  with  her  work  around  her,  making  something  for 
such  and  such  a  person.  What  the  void  in  your  life  must  be  those  who 
knew  most  of  her  manifold,  exalted,  inspiring  life  can  but  imagine. 

"  Nay,  Hope  may  whisper  ^vith  the  dead 
By  bending  forward  where  they  are  ; 
But  Memory,  with  a  backward  tread, 
Communes  with  them  afar  I 

•*  The  joys  we  lose  are  but  forecast. 
And  we  shall  fmd  them  all  once  more ; 
We  look  behind  us  for  the  past. 
But,  lo!  'tis  all  before  1 " 


CHAPTER    X. 

ON  THE   MOUNT. 

1870. 

I. 

A  Ivappy  Year.  Madame  Guyon.  What  sweetens  the  Cup  of  earthly  Trials  and  the 
Cup  of  earthly  Joy.  Death  of  Mrs.  Julia  B.  Cady.  Her  Usefulness.  Sickness 
and  Death  of  other  Friends.  "My  Cup  runneth  over."  Letters.  "More  Love 
to  Thee,  O  Christ." 

In  every  earnest  life  there  usually  comes  a  time  when  it 
reaches  its  highest  point,  whether  of  power  or  of  enjoyment ; 
a  time  when  it  is  in 

— the  bright,  consumate  flower. 

The  year  1870  formed  such  a  period  in  the  life  of  Mrs.  Pren- 
tiss. None  that  went  before,  or  that  followed  after,  equalled 
it,  as  a  whole,  in  rich,  varied  and  happy  experiences.  It  was 
full  of  the  genial,  loving  spirit  which  inspired  the  Little  Susy 
books  and  Stepping  Heavenward  ;  full,  too,  of  the  playful 
humor  which  runs  through  Fred  and  Maria  and  Me ;  and  full, 
also,  of  the  intense,  overflowing  delight  in  her  God  and  Sav- 
iour that  breathes  in  the  Golden  Hours.  From  its  opening  to 
its  close  she  was — to  borrow  an  expression  from  her  Richmond 
journal — "one  great  long  sunbeam."  Everywhere,  in  her 
home,  with  her  friends,  by  sick  and  dying  beds,  in  the  hou;(e 
of  mourning,  in  the  crov/dcd  street  or  among  her  flowers  at 
Dorset,  she  seemed  to  be  attired  with  constant  brightness.  Of 
course,  there  were  not  wanting  hours  of  sadness  and  heart- 
sinking;  nor  was  her  consciousness  of  sin  or  her  longing  to  be 
freed  from  it,  perhaps,  ever  keener  and  more  profound;  but 
still  the  main  current  of  her  existence  flowed  on,  untroubled, 
to  the  music  of  its  own  loving,  grateful  and  adoring  thoughts. 
Often  she  would  say  that  God  was  too  good  to  her;  that  she 
(292) 


ON   THE    MOUNT.  29? 

was  satisfied  ?i\\A  had  nothing  more  to  ask  of  life;  her  cup  of 
domestic  bliss  ran  over ;  and  as  to  her  religious  joy,  it  was  at 
times  too  much  for  her  frail  body,  and  she  begged  that  it 
might  be  transferred  to  other  souls.  Her  letters  give  a  vivid 
picture  of  her  state  of  mind  during  this  memorable  year;  and 
yet  only  a  picture.  The  sweet  reality  was  beyond  the  powci 
of  words. 

In  the  early  part  of  this  year  the  correspondence  of 
Madame  Guyon  and  Fenelon  fell  into  her  hands,  and  was 
eagerly  read  by  her.  The  perusal  of  this  correspondence  led, 
somewhat  later,  to  a  careful  study  of  the  Select  Works,  Auto- 
biography, and  Spiritual  Letters  of  Madame  Guyon,  tluui 
forming  an  important  incident  in  her  religious  histor}-.  Here- 
tofore she  had  known  Madame  Guyon  chiefly  through  the 
Life  by  Prof.  Upham  and  the  little  treatise  entitled  A  Short 
and  very  Easy  Method  of  Prayer;  and  both  seem  rather  to 
have  repelled  her.     In  1867  she  wrote  to  a  friend  : 

There  is  a  book  I  would  be  glad  to  have  you  read,  and 
which  I  think  you  would  wish  to  own  ;  '  Thoughts  on  Personal 
Religion,'  by  Goulburn.  I  never  read  a  modern  religious  book 
that  had  in  it  so  much,  that  really  edified  me.  I  take  for  grant- 
ed you  have  Thomas  a  Kern  pis  ;  on  that  and  on  Fenelon  I  have 
feasted  for  years  every  day  ;  I  like  strengthening  food  and 
whatever  deals  a  blow  at  this  monster  Self.  Madame  Guyon  I 
do  not  understand. 

But  now  she  began  to  feel,  as  so  many  earnest  seekers  after 
holiness  had  felt  before  her,  the  strong  attraction  of  this  re- 
markable woman.  While  never  becoming  to  her  what  Fene- 
lon was,  Madame  Guyon  for  several  years  exerted  a  decided 
influence  upon  her  views  of  the  Christian  life ;  nor  is  there 
reason  to  think  that  this  influence  was  not,  on  the  whole, 
salutary.  Notwithstanding  her  grave  errors  and  the  extrava- 
gances which  marred  her  career,  Madame  Guyon  was  no  doubt 
one  of  the  holiest,  as  she  was  certainly  one  of  the  most  gifted, 
vvomen  of  her  own  or  any  other  age.' 

1  John  Wesley,  after  having  pointed  out  what  he  considered  the  {jrand  source  of  all  her 
nistakes ;  namely,  the  being  guided  by  inward  impressions  and  the  light  of  her  own 
spirit  rather  than  by  the  written  Word,  and  also  her  error  in  teaching  that  God  nevei 


•J94  'l^HE    LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

It  has  been  a  real  disappointment  not  to  see  you.  How 
To  Mrs  quickly  we  learn  to  lean  on  earthl)'  things  !  I  am 
y.  Fiiiot   afraid  I  prize  Christian  fellowship  too  much,  and  that 

New  York,  I  am  behaving  in  a  miserly  way  about  all  divine  gifts, 
^'^'^■^'^^'^°"  shutting  myself  up  here  in  this  room,  which  often 
seems  like  the  gate  of  heaven,  and  luxuriating  in  it,  instead  of 
going  about  preaching  the  glad  tidings  to  other  souls.  Yet 
work  for  Christ,  when  He  gives  it,  is  sweet,  too,  and  if  answer- 
ing your  note  is  the  little  tiny  bit  He  offers  me  at  this  moment, 
how  glad  I  am.  Though  I  am  not,  just  now,  in  the  furnace  as 
you  are,  there  is  no  knowing  how  soon  I  shall  be,  and  I  remem- 
ber well  enough  how  the  furnace  feels,  to  have  deep  sympathy 
with  you  in  your  trials.  Sympathy,  but  not  regret ;  I  can't 
make  myself  be  very  sorry  for  Christ's  disciples  when  He  takes 
them  in  hand — He  does  it  so  tenderly,  so  wisely,  so  lovingly  ; 
and  it  can  hardly  be  true,  can  it  ?  that  He  is  just  as  near  and 
dear  to  me  when  my  cup  is  as  full  of  earthly  blessings  as  it  can 
hold,  as  He  is  to  you  whose  cup  He  is  emptying? 

I  have  always  thought  they  knew  and  loved  Him  best  who 
knew  Him  in  His  character  of  Chastiser  ;  but  perhaps  one 
never  loses  the  memory  of  His  revelations  of  Himself  in  that 
form,  and  perhaps  that  tender  memory  saddens  and  hallows  the 
day  of  prosperity.  At  any  rate,  you  and  I  seem  to  be  in  full 
sympathy  with  each  other  ;  your  empty  cup  isn't  empty,  and 
my  full  one  would  be  bitter  if  love  to  Christ  did  not  sweeten 

t.  It  matters  very  little  on  what  paths  we  are  walking,  since 
we  find  Him  in  every  one.  How  ashamed  we  shall  be  when  we 
get  to  heaven,  of  our  talk  about  our  trials  here  !  Why  don't 
we  sing  songs  instead  ?'  We  know  how,  for  He  has  put  the 
songs  into  our  mouths.  I  think  I  know  something  about  the 
land  of  Beulah,  but  I  don't  quite  live  in  it  yet  ;  and  yet  what  is 
this  joy  if  it  isn't  beatitude,  if  it  is  not  a  foretaste  of  that 
which  is  to  come  ?     It  isn't  joy  in  what  He  has  done  for  me,  a 

purifies  a  soul  but  by  inward  and  outward  suffering — then  adds  :  "  And  yet  with  all  this 
dross  how  much  pure  gold  is  mixed  !  So  did  God  wink  at  involuntar)'-  ignorance.  \Viiat 
a  depth  of  religion  did  she  enjoy  1  How  much  of  the  mind  that  was  in  Christ  Jesus  ! 
\Vhat  heights  of  righteousness,  and  peace,  and  joy  in  the  Holy  Ghost !  How  few  such 
instances  do  we  find  of  exalted  love  to  God,  and  our  neighbor ;  of  genuine  humility  ;  of 
invincible  meeknrss  and  unbounded  resignation  !  So  that,  upon  the  whole,  I  know  not 
vvhethor  we  may  not  search  many  centuries  to  find  another  woman  who  was  such  a  pat- 
tern of  true  holiness." 


ON   THE    MOUNT. 


-'95 


sinner,  but  adoring  joy  for  what  He  is,  though  I  do  not  begin  to 
know  what  He  is.  It  will  take  an  eternity  to  learn  that  lesson. 
Do  you  really  mean  to  say  that  Miss  K.  is  going  to  pray  foi 
viel  How  delightful  !  I  am  greedy  for  prayer  ;  nobody  is  ricli 
enough  to  give  me  anything  I  so  long  for  ;  indeed  when  my 
husband  begged  me  to  tell  him  what  I  wanted  at  Christmas,  I 
couldn't  think  of  a  thing  ;  but  oh,  what  unutterable  longing  I 
have  for  more  of  Christ.  Why  should  we  not  speak  freely  to 
each  other  of  Him  ?  Don't  apologise  for  it  again.  The  wonder 
is  that  we  have  the  heart  to  speak  of  anything  else.  Some- 
times I  am  almost  frightened  at  the  expressions  of  love  I  pour 
out  upon  Him,  and  wonder  if  I  am  really  in  earnest  ;  if  I  really 
mean  all  I  say.  Is  it  even  so  with  you  ?  It  is  not  foolish,  is  it  ? 
Perhaps  He  likes  to  hear  our  poor  stammerings,  when  we  can 
not  get  our  emotions  and  our  thoughts  into  words. 

I  find  letters  more  and  more  unsatisfactory.     How  little  I 

To  Miss    know  of  your  real  life,  how  little  you  know  of  mine  ! 

E.A.  War-'^Q  much  is  going  on  all  the  time  that  I  should  run 

«rr,  New  ^         ^ 

York,  Jan.  and  tell  you  about  if  you  lived  here,  but  which  it 
^'  ^  ^°"  would  take  too  long  to  write.  I  have  very  precious 
Christian  friends  within  six  months,  who  take,  or  rather  to 
whom  I  give,  more  time  than  I  could  or  would  spare  for  any 
ordinary  friendship  ;  one  of  them  has  spent  four  hours  in  my 
room  with  me  at  a  time,  and  we  had  wonderful  communings 
together.  Then  two  dear  friends  have  died.  One  of  the  two, 
of  whom  you  have  heard  me  speak,  was  the  most  useful  woman 
in  our  church  ;  my  husband  and  I  both  wept  over  her  death. 
The  other  directed  in  dying  that  a  copy  of  Stepping  Heaven- 
ward should  be  given  to  each  of  her  Sunday  scholars  ;  a  life- 
long fear  of  death  was  taken  away,  and  she  declared  it  plcas- 
anter  and  easier  to  die  than  to  live  ;  her  last  words,  five  min- 
utes before  she  drew  her  last  gentle  breath,  came  with  the  up- 
ward, dying  look,  "  Wonderful  love  !  " 

You  can't  think  how  sweet  it  is  to  be  a  pastor's  \\'\W.  \  m 
feel  the  right  to  sympiihise  with  those  who  mourn,  to  lly  to 
them  at  once,  and  join  them  in  their  prayers  and  tears.  It  would 
be  pleasant  to  spend  one's  whole  time  among  sufferers,  and  to 
keep  testifying  to  them  what  Christ  can  and  will  become  to 
them,   if  they  will   only  let   Him No,    I  never  '' Dialed  ' 


296  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

or  was  transcendental.  I  don't  think  knowledge  will  come  tc 
us  by  intuition  in  heaven,  though  knowledge  enough  to  get 
started  there,  will.  But  I  don't  much  care  how  it  will  be.  I 
know  we  shall  learn  Christ  there.  I  have  read  lately  Prof. 
Phelps  on  the  Solitude  of  Christ  ;  it  is  a  suggestive  little  book 
which  I  like  much.  Have  you  ever  read  the  Life  of  jNIrs. 
Hawkes  ?  It  is  interesting  because  she  records  so  many  of 
Cecil's  wonderful  remarks — such,  e.g.,  as  these:  "a  humble, 
kind  silence  often  utters  much."  "To-morrow  you  and  I  shall 
walk  together  in  a  garden,  when  I  hope  to  talk  with  you  about 
everything  but  sadness."  I  am  going  to  ask  a  favor  of  you, 
though  I  hate  to  put  you  to  the  trouble.  In  writing  a  telegram 
in  great  haste  and  sorrow,  I  accidentally  used  and  cut  into  the 
lines  you  copied  for  me — Sabbath  hymn  in  sickness.  It  was  a 
real  loss,  and  if  you  ever  feel  a  little  stronger  than  usual,  will 
you  make  me  another  copy  ?  I  so  often  want  to  comfort  sick 
persons  with  it. 

I  have  half  promised  to  write  a  serial  for  a  magazine,  the 
organ  of  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Association,  though  I 
know  nothing  of  young  men  and  hate  to  write  serials.  I  wish 
I  could  hide  in  some  hole.  I  get  bright  letters  from  A.,  who 
is  having  a  very  nice  time.  I  write  her  every  day  ;  wretched 
letters,  which  she  thinks  delightful,  fortunately.  We  have  a 
quiet  time  this  winter,  but  such  nice  things  can't  last,  and  I 
am  afraid  of  this  world  anyhow.  I  know  you  pray  for  me,  as 
I  do  for  you  and  Miss  L.  every  day.  I  have  a  thousand  things 
to  say  that  I  shall  have  to  put  off  till  I  see  you.  Good-bye, 
dearie. 

I  have  had  some  really  sweet  days,  shut  up  w^th  my  dear 

To  Mrs.    little  boy.     He  is  better,  and  I  am  comparatively  at 

Condict,    leisure    again,   and    so    happy   in    meditatinfr   on   the 

Marciit,    character  of    my    Saviour,   and   in   the    sense   of  His 

^^'°"       nearness,   tliat  I  acJie,  and  have  had   to  beg  Him  to 

give  me  no  more,  but  to  carry  this  joy  to  you  and  to  Miss  K. 

and  to  two  friends,  who,  languishing  on  dying  beds,  need  it  so 

much.'    If  I  could  shed  tears  I  should  not  have  to  tell  you  this 

and  indeed  it  is  nothing  new  ;  but  one  must  have  vent  in  some 

*  See  the  lines  My  Cup  Runneth  Over,  Golden  Hours ^  p.  43. 


ON   THE    MOUNT. 


297 


way.  And  this  reminds  me  to  explain  to  you  why  to  three 
deeir  Christian  friends  I  now  and  then  send  verses  ;  they  arc  my 
tears  of  joy  or  sorrow,  and  when  I  feel  most  deeply  it  is  a 
relief  to  versify,  and  a  pleasure  to  open  my  heart  to  those 
who  feel  as  I  do.  I  have  been  in  print  ever  since  I  was  sixteen 
years  old,  and  admiration  is  an  old  story  ;  I  care  very  little  for 
it ;  but  I  do  crave  and  value  sympathy  with  those  who  love 
Clirist.  And  it  is  such  a  new  thing  to  open  my  heart  thus  !  I 
have  written  any  number  of  verses  that  no  human  being  has 
ever  seen,  because  they  came  from  the  very  bottom  of  my  heart. 
I  v/ish  I  could  put  into  words  all  the  blessed  thoughts  I 
had  last  week  about  God's  dear  will:  it  was  a  week  of  such 
sweet  content  with  the  work  He  gave  me  to  do  ;  naturally  I 
hate  nursing,  and  losing  the  air  makes  me  feel  unwell  ;  but 
what  can't  God  do  with  us  ?  I  love,  dearly,  to  have  a  Master 
[  fancy  that  those  who  have  strong  wills,  are  the  ones  to  enjoy 
God's  sovereignty  most.  I  v/ondcr  if  you  realise  what  a  very 
happy  creature  I  am  ?  and  how  much  too  good  God  is  to  me  ?  I 
don't  see  how  He  can  heap  such  mercies  on  a  poor  sinner  ;  but 
that  only  shows  how  little  I  know  Him.  But  then,  I  am 
learning  to  knoAV  Him,  and  shall  go  on  doing  it  forever  and 
ever  ;  and  so  will  you,  I  am  not  sure  that  it  is  best  for  us, 
once  safe  and  secure  on  the  Rock  of  Ages,  to  ask  ourselves  too 
closely  what  this  and  that  experience  may  signify.  Is  it  not 
better  to  be  thinking  of  the  Rock,  not  of  the  feet  that  stand 
upon  it?  It  seems  to  me  that  we  ought  to  be  unconscious  of 
ourselves,  and  that  the  nearer  we  get  to  Christ,  the  more  we 
shall  be  taken  up  with  Him.  We  shall  be  like  a  sick  man  who, 
after  he  gets  well,  forgets  all  the  old  symptoms  he  used  to 
think  so  much  of,  and  stops  feeling  his  pulse,  and  just  enjoys 
his  health,  only  pointing  out  his  physician  to  all  who  arc  dis- 
eased. You  will  see  that  this  is  in  answer  to  a  portion  of  your 
Ie';ter,  in  which  you  say  Miss  K.  interprets  to  you  certain  expe- 
riences. If  I  am  wrong  I  am  willing  to  be  set  right  ;  perhaps 
I  have  not  said  clearly  what  I  meant  to  say.  I  certainly  mean 
no  criticism  on  you  or  her,  but  am  only  thinking  aloud  and 
querying. 

You   ask  if  I  revel  in  the  Pllirrim's  Progress.     Yes,  I  do.     I 


298  THE   LIFE    OF   MRS.    PREXTISS. 

ToXTissE.  think  it  an  amazing  book.  It  seems  to  me  almost  as 
^v!y  pS-T'  ^^ch  an  inspiration  as  the  Bible  itself.'     I  am  glad 

March  27,  you  liked  that  hymn.  I  write  in  verse  whenever  J 
^  ^°*  am  deeply  stirred,  because,  though  as  full  of  tears  as 
other  people,  I  can  not  shed  them.  But  I  never  showed  any  of 
these  verses  to  any  one,  not  even  my  husband,  till  this  winter. 
But  if  I  were  more  with  you  no  doubt  I  should  venture  to  let 
you  run  over  some  of  them,  at  least  those  my  dear  husband  has 
seen  and  likes.  I  have  felt  about  hymns  just  as  you  say  yoM  do, 
as  if  I  loved  them  more  than  the  Bible.  But  I  have  got  over 
that ;  I  prayed  myself  out  of  it,  not  loving  hymns  the  less,  but 
the  Bible  more.  I  wonder  if  you  sing  ;  I  can't  remember  ;  if 
you  do,  I  will  send  you,  sometime,  a  hymn  to  sing  for  my  sake, 
called  "  More  love  to  Thee,  O  Christ."  Only  to  think,  our 
silver  wedding  comes  next  month,  and  A.  and  the  Smiths  away  ! 
I  have  been  interrupted  by  callers,  and  must  have  been  in 
the  parlor  several  hours.  You  can't  think  what  a  sweet,  peace- 
ful winter  this  has  been,  nor  how  good  the  children  are.  My 
cup  has  just  run  over,  and  at  times  I  am  too  happy  to  be 
comfortable,  if  you  know  what  that  means  ;  not  having  a  strong 
body,  I  suppose  you  do.  Mrs.  B.  has  been  in  a  very  critical 
state  of  late,  but  she  is  rallying,  and  I  may,  perhaps,  have  the 
privilege  of  seeing  her  again.  I  have  had  some  precious  times 
with  her  in  her  sick-room  ;  last  Friday,  a  week  ago,  she  prayed 
with  me  in  the  sweetest  temper  of  mind,  and  came  with  me 
when  I  took  leave,  to  the  head  of  the  stairs,  full  of  love  and 
smUes. 

I  wish  that  hymn  for  the  sick-room  were  mine,  but  it  is  not. 
I  will  enclose  one  that  is,  which  my  dear  husband  has 

To  a 

Yoiaig     kindly  had  printed  ;  perhaps  you  will  like  to  sing  it 

^pru\    to  the  tune  of  "Nearer,  my  God,  to  Thee."     There  is 

1870.      not  much  in  it,  but  you  can  put  everything  into  it  as 

*  "  I  know  of  no  book,  the  Bible  excepted  as  above  all  comparison,  which  I,  according  to 
my  judgment  and  experience,  could  so  safely  recommend  as  teaching  and  enforcing  the 
whole  saving  truth  according  to  the  mind  that  was  in  Christ  Jesus,  as  the  Pilgrim's  Prog 
ress.  It  is,  in  my  conviction,  incomparably  the  best  summa  t/icologicr  cvangelicce  ever 
produced  by  a  \\Titer  not  miraculously  inspired.  I  read  it  once  as  a  theologian — and  let 
me  assure  you,  there  is  great  theological  acumen  in  the  work — once  with  devotional  feel- 
ings, and  once  as  a  poet,  I  could  not  have  believed  beforehand  that  Calvinism  could  be 
painted  in  such  exquisitely  delightful  colors." — Coleridge. 


ON   THE    MOUNT. 


299 


you  make  it  your  prayer.  I  can't  help  feeling  that  every  soul  I 
meet,  of  whom  I  can  ask,  What  think  you  of  Christ  ?  and  get 
the  glad  answer,  "  He  is  the  chiefest  among  ten  thousand,  the 
One  altogether  lovely"  — is  a  blessing  as  well  as  a  comfort  to 
mine  ;  and  whenever  you  can  and  do  say  it,  you  will  become 
more  dear  to  me.  Your  God  and  Saviour  won  you  as  an  easy 
victory,  but  He  had  to  fight  for  me.  It  seems  to  me  now  that 
He  ought  to  have  all  there  is  of  me — which,  to  be  sure,  isn't 
much — and  I  hope  He  is  taking  it.  His  ways  with  me  have 
been  perfectly  beautiful  and  infinite  in  long-suffering  and 
patience. 

Ap7'il  wth. — Your  note  has  reawakened  a  question  I  have 
often  had  occasion  to  ask  myself  before.  AVhy  do  my  friends 
speak  of  my  letters  as  giving  more  pleasure  or  profit  than  any- 
thing that  goes  to  them  from  me  in  print  ?  Is  human  nature 
so  selfish  ?  Must  everybody  have  everything  to  himself  ?  It 
might  seem  so  at  first  blush,  but  I  think  there  are  two  sides  to 
this  question.  May  it  not  be  possible  that  God  sends  a  mes- 
sage directly  from  one  heart  to  another  as  He  does  not  to  the 
many  2  Does  He  not  speak  through  the  living  voice  and  the 
pen  that  is  that  voice,  as  He  does  not  do  in  the  less  uncon- 
strained form  of  print  ?  At  any  rate,  I  love  to  believe  that  He 
directs  each  word  and  look  and  tone  ;  inspires  it  rather,  I  should 
say. 

I  should  like  you  to  offer  a  special  prayer  for  us  on  Satur- 
day. That  day  completes  twenty-five  years  of  married  life  to 
us,  and,  though  it  has  its  shades  as  well  as  its  lights,  I  do  not 
think  1  can  do  better  for  you  than  ask  that  you  may  have  such 
years, 

"  P'or  who  the  backward  scene  hath  scanned 
But  blessed  the  Father's  g^uiding  hand?  " 

I  can  more  truly  thank  Him  for  His  chastisements  than  for  His 
worldly  indulgences  ;  the  latter  urge  from,  the  former  drive  to 
Him.     I  am  saying  a  great  thing  in  a  feeble  way,  and  you  may 

multiply  it  by  ten  thousand,  and  it  will  still  be  weak. 

The  hymn,  "  More  Lov^c  to  Thee,  O  Clirist,"  bcionc^s, 
probably,  as  far  back  as  the  year  1856.  Like  most  of  hei 
hymns,  it  is  simply  a  prayer  put  into  the  form  of  verse.     She 


300  THE    LIFE   OF    MRS.    PRENTISS. 

wrote  it  so  hastily  that  the  last  stanza  was  left  incomplete, 
one  line  having  been  added  in  pencil  when  it  was  printed. 
She  did  not  show  it,  not  even  to  her  husband,  until  many 
years  after  it  was  written  ;  and  she  wondered  not  a  little  that, 
when  published,  it  met  with  so  much  favor. 


II. 

Her  Silver  Wedding;.  '■^  I  have  Livedo  I  have  Loved."  No  Joy  can  put  her  out  of  Syn> 
pathy  with  the  Trials  of  Friends.  A  Glance  backward.  Last  Interview  with  a  dy- 
ing I'Yiend.  More  Love  and  more  Likeness  to  Christ.  Funeral  of  a  little  Baby. 
Letters  to  Christian  l-^iends. 

If  1870  was  the  crowning  year  in  Mrs.  Prentiss'  life,  the 
1 6th  of  April  was  that  year's  most  precious  jewel.  As  the 
time  drew  nigh,  a  glow  of  tender,  grateful  recollection  suffused 
her  countenance. 

Her  eyes  are  homes  of  silent  prayer. 

She  talked  of  the  past,  like  one  lost  in  wonder,  while  the 
light  and  beauty  of  the  vanished  years  appeared  still  to  rest 
upon  her  spirit.  The  day  itself,  which  had  been  kept  from  the 
knowledge  of  most  of  her  friends,  was  full  of  sweet  content, 
rehearsing,  as  it  were,  all  the  days  of  her  married  life ;  and,  at 
its  close,  the  measure  of  her  earthly  joy  seemed  to  be  perfect 
and  entire,  wanting  nothing. 

Do  you  knovv^  that  it  is  just  twenty-five  years  since  we  first 

To  Mrs     "^^^^     How  gladly  would  I  spend  the  day  of  our  sil- 

Leonard,  vcr  wcddiog  With  you  !     You  will  see  that  I  am  near 

'-^/77/i6,' y<^^  ^^  spirit,  at  all  events.     My  thoughts  have  been 

1845-1870.  b^sy  the  past  week  with  reviewing  the  years  through 

which  I  have  travelled,  hand  in  hand,  with  my  dear  husband  ; 

years   full  of  sin,  full  of   suffering,  full  of  joy  ;  brimful  of  the 

loving-kindness  and  tender  mercy  that  smote  often  and  smote 

surely.     Your  last  letter  only  confirms  what  I  already  knew, 

but  am  never  tired  of  hearing  repeated,  the  faithfulness  of  God 

to  those  whom  He  afflicts.    When  we  once  find  out  what  He  is  to 


ON     I'lIE    MOUNT. 


301 


Jin  aching,  emi)Ly  heart,  we  want  to  make  everybody  sec  jusl 
what  we  see,  and,  until  we  try  in  vain,  think  we  can.  I  had 
very  pecuUar  feelings  in  relation  to  you  when  your  dear  hus- 
band was,  for  a  time,  parted  from  you.  I  knew  God  would 
never  afflict  you  so,  if  He  had  not  something  beautiful  and 
blissful  to  o^ive  in  place  of  what  He  took.  And  what  can  we 
ask  for  that  compares  for  one  instant  with  "  the  almost  con- 
stant felt  presence  of  our  Saviour's  sympathy  and  sup])orL  "  ? 
Our  human  nature  v\'Ould  like  to  have  the  earthly  and  the  di- 
vine friendship  at  once  ;  but,  if  we  must  choose  between  tlie 
twain,  surely  you  and  I  would  choose  Christ  without  one  mo- 
ment's hesitation.  I  hope  you  mention  my  name  every  day  to 
Him  as  I  do  yours,  as  I  love  to  do. 

I  enclose,  and  want  you,  when  by  yourself,  to  sing  for  my 
sake  a  little  hymn  that  I  am  sure  is  the  language  of  your  heart. 
My  dear  husband  had  a  few  copies  struck  off  to  give  friends. 
Write  soon  and  often.  Oh,  that  you  lived  here  or  at  Dorset. 
Good-bye,  with  warmest  love,  now  twenty-five  years  old  ! 

Last  Saturday  was  the  twenty-fifth  anniversary  of  our  n.ar- 
To  Mrs  i'i^&<^>  ^'^d  ^  very  happy  day  to  us  both.  My  dear 
Condict,    husband  wrote  me  a  letter  that  made  me  tremble,  lesl 

Nevo  York,  ,  ,         ,  ,  ,     1      1  1       r  1  1      • 

April  10,  he  should  get  such  hold  of  me  as  no  human  bemg 
^^'°*  must  have.  I  have  a  very  curious  feeling  about  life  ; 
a  satisfied  one,  and  as  if  it  could  not  possibly  give  me  much 
more  than  I  now  have.  ^^I  Jiave  livedo  I  have  loved.'' '  People 
often  say  they  have  so  much  to  live  for  ;  I  can't  feel  so,  though 
I  am  not  only  willing,  but  glad  to  live  while  my  husband  and 
children  need  me  ;  and  yet — and  yet — to  have  this  problem 
solved,  and  to  be  forever  with  the  Lord  !  I  want  to  see  you. 
I  can  no  longer  see  my  dear  Mrs.  B. ;  she  is  too  ill,  and  thai 
makes  me  miss  you  the  more.  I  hope  that  little  MS.  of  mine 
did  not  task  your  sympathies;  I  don't  want  you  to  pity  nic. 
but  to  magnify  Him  who  took  such  pains  with  me,  and  is 
carrying  on  just  such  work  in  thousands  of  hearts  and  lives. 
What  goodness  !  What  condescension  !  The  least  we  can  do 
vvlio  have  suffered  much  is  to  love  mucli I   have  been 

The  allusion  is  to  Thekla's  song  in  Part  I.,  Act  ill.,  sc.  7  of  Schiller's  WaUsnstein. 
Du  Heilige,  rufe  deiii  Kind  ziiriick  ! 
Ich  habe  genosscn  das  irdische  Gliick, 
ich  habe gelebt  una  geliebet. 


302  THE   LIFE   OF    MRS.    PRENTISS. 

Studying  the  Bible  on  the  subject  of  giving  personal  testimony 
and  think  it  makes  this  a  plain  duty.  There  is  nothing  like  the 
influence  of  one  living  soul  on  another.  Then  why  should  wc 
not  naturally  speak  to  everybody  who  will  listen,  of  what  fills 
our  thoughts  ;  our  Saviour,  His  beauty,  His  goodness,  His 
faithfulness,  His  wisdom  !  I  don't  believe  a  full  heart  can  help 
running  over 

I  was  right  sorry  to  lose  your  Saturday's  call.    It  was  a  hap- 

To  a  young  Py  ^^X  ^^  ^^^'  ^^^  ^  ^^^  conceive  of  no  enjoyment  of  any 

Friejid,     sort  that   would   put    me    out  of    sympathy  with  the 

April  21,  .    ,         ,    ^   .         ,        ^  J       t^         J 

1S70.      trials  of  friends  : 

•'  Old  and  young  are  bringing  troubles, 
Great  and  small,  for  me  to  hear ; 
/  have  oftc7i  blessed  my  sorrows 
Thai  drew  other  s  grief  so  near'' 

I  thought  I  was  saying  a  very  ordinary  thing  when  I  spoke 
of  thanking  God  for  His  long  years  of  discipline,  but  very 
likely  life  did  not  look  to  me  at  your  age  as  it  does  now.  I  was 
rather  startled  the  other  day,  to  find  it  written  in  German,  \v 
my  own  hand,  "  I  can  not  say  the  will  is  there,"  referring  to  a 
hymn  which  says,  "  Der  Will  ist  da,  die  Kraft  ist  klein,  Doch 
wird  dir  nicht  zuwider  seyn."  I  suppose  there  was  some  great 
struggle  going  on  when  this  foolish  heart  said  that,  just  as  if 
God  did  not  invariably  do  for  us  the  very  best  that  can  be 
done.^  You  speak  of  having  your  love  to  Jesus  intensified  by 
interviews  with  me.  It  can  hardly  be  otherwise,  when  those 
meet  together  who  love  Him,  and  it  is  a  rule  that  works  both 
ways  ;  acts  and  reacts.  I  should  be  thankful  if  no  human 
being  could  ever  meet  me,  even  in  a  chance  way,  and  not  go 
away  clasping  Him  the  closer,  and  if  I  could  meet  no  one  who 
did  not  so  stir  and  move  me.  It  is  my  constant  prayer.  I  have 
such  insatiable  longings  to  know  and  love  Him  better  that  I  go 
about  hungering  and  thirsting  for  the  fellowship  of  those  who 
feel  so  too  ;  when  I  meet  them  I  call  them  my  "benedictions." 
Next  best  to  being  with  Christ  Himself,  I  love  to  be  with  those 

1  The  hymn  referred  to  is  Paul  Gerhardt's,  beginning  : 
Wir  singen  dir,  Iiniuaiiuol,  Du  Lebensfiirst  uiid  GnaJenqucll. 
It  was  one  of  her  favorite  German  hymns.     The  Hnes  she  quotes  belong  to  the  ter.th 
llauTa  ;  "  Ich  kann  nicht  sag  en  Der  Will  ist  da,"  are  the  words  pencilled  in  the  margin. 


ON    TlIK    MOUNT. 


303 


who  have  His  spirit  and  are  yearning  for  more  of  His  likeness 
You  speak  of  putting  "deep  and  dark  chasms  betw-^en  "  your- 
self and  Christ.  He  lets  us  do  this  that  we  may  learn  our 
nothingness,  our  weakness,  and  turn,  disgusted,  from  ourselves 
to  Him.  May  I  venture  to  assure  you  that  the  "  chasms  "  occur 
less  and  less  frequently  as  one  presses  on,  till  finally  they  turn 
into  "mountains  of  light."  Get  and  keep  a  will  for  God,  and 
everything  that  will  is  ready  for  will  come.  This  is  about  a 
tenth  part  of  what  I  might  say. 

I  wish  I  could  describe  to  you  my  last  interview  with  Mrs. 

To  Miss  E.  •^-     Sh^  ^^^  altered  so  in  two  weeks  in  which  I  had 

A  ivarner,  not  seen  her,  that  I  should  not  have  known  her.     She 

Nezv  York^ 

April  2$,  spoke  with  difficulty,  but  by  getting  close  to  her  mouth 
^  ^°'  I  could  hear  all  she  said.  She  went  back  to  the  first 
time  she  met  me,  told  me  her  heart  then  knitted  itself  to  mine, 
and  how  she  had  loved  me  ever  since,  etc.,  etc.  I  then  asked 
her  if  she  had  any  parting  counsel  to  give  me  :  "  No,  not  a 
word."  ....  Some  one  came  in  and  wet  her  lips,  gave  her  a 
sprig  of  citronatis,  and  passed  out.  I  crushed  it  and  let  her 
smell  the  bruised  leaves,  saying,  "  You  are  just  like  these  crush- 
ed leaves."  She  smiled,  and  replied,  "  Well,  I  haven't  had  one  pain 
too  many,  not  one.  But  the  agony  has  been  dreadful.  I  won't 
talk  about  that  ;  I  just  want  to  see  your  sunny  face."  I  asked 
if  she  was  rejoicing  in  the  hope  of  meeting  lost  friends  and  the 
saints  in  heaven.  She  said,  with  an  expressive  look,  "Oh,  no,  I 
haven't  got  so  far  as  that.  I  have  only  got  as  far  as  Christ." 
"  For  all  that,"  I  said,  "you'll  see  my  father  and  mother  there." 
"Why,  so  I  shall,"  with  another  bright  smile.  But  her  lips  were 
growing  white  with  pain,  and  I  came  away. 

Did  I  tell  you  it  was  our  silver  wedding-day  on  the  i6th  ? 
We  had  a  very  happy  day,  and  if  I  could  see  you  I  should  like 
to  tell  you  all  about  it.  But  it  is  too  long  a  story  to  tell  in 
writing.  I  don't  see  but  I've  had  everything  this  life  can  give, 
and  have  a  curious  feeling  as  if  I  had  got  to  a  stopping-place. 
I  heard  yesterday  that  two  of  M.'s  teachers  had  said  tliey  looked 
at  her  with  perfect  awe  on  account  of  her  goodness.  I  reall) 
never  knew  her  to  do  anvthincf  wrono:. 


'& 


1   could  write  forever  on   the  subject  of  Christian   charit) 


304  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

y.^^  but  I  must  say  that  in  the  case  you  refer  to,  I  think 

Friend     you  accuse  vourself  unduly.     We  are  not  to  part  com- 
Kew  York,  ^  .  ^    ^  -^  ,  ^ 

May  I,     pany   with   our  common   sense  because   we   want   tc 

^^^°*  clasp  hands  with  the  Love  that  thinketh  no  evil,  and 
we  can  not  help  seeing  that  there  are  few,  if  any,  on  earth  with- 
out beams  in  their  eyes  and  foibles  and  sins  in  their  lives.  The 
fact  that  your  friend  repented  and  confessed  his  sin,  eniitled 
him  to  your  forgiving  love,  but  not  to  the  ignoring  of  the  fact 

that  he  was   guilty Temptations   come    sometimes    in 

swarms,  like  bees,  and  running  away  does  no  good,  and  fight- 
ing only  exasperates  them.  The  only  help  must  come  from. 
Him  who  understands  and  can  control  the  whole  swarm. 

You  ask  for  my  prayers,  and  I  ask  for  yours.  I  long  ago 
formed  the  habit  of  praying  at  night  individually,  if  possible, 
for  all  who  had  come  to  me  through  the  day,  or  w^hom  I  had 
visited  ;  but  you  contrive  to  get  a  much  larger  share  than  that. 
I  love  to  think  of  your  future  holiness  and  usefulness  as  even 
in  the  very  least  linked  to  my  prayers.  Oh,  I  ought  to  know 
how  to  pray  a  great  deal  better  than  I  do,  for  forty  years  ago, 
save  one,  I  this  day  publicly  dedicated  myself  to  Christ.  I 
write  to  you  because  I  like  to  do  so,  recognising  no  difference 
between  writing  and  talking.  When  no  better  work  comes  to 
me,  I  am  glad  to  give  the  little  pleasure  I  can,  in  notes  and  let- 
ters. He  who  knows  how  poor  we  are,  how  little  we  have  to 
give,  does  not  disdain  even  a  note  like  this,  since  it  is  written 
in  love  to  Him  and  to  one  of  His  own  dear  ones. 

May  23^. — Your  last  letter  was  like  a  fragrant  breath  of 
country  air,  redolent  of  flowers,  and  all  that  makes  rural  scenes 
so  sweet.  But  better  still,  it  was  fragrant  with  love  to  Him 
who  is  the  bond  between  us,  in  whose  name  and  for  whose 
sake  we  are  friends.  I  wish  I  loved  Him  better  and  were  more 
iike  Him  ;  perhaps  that  is  about  as  far  as  we  get  in  this  world, 
for  no  matter  how  far  we  advance,  we  are  never  satisfied  ;  there 
is  always  something  ahead  ;  I  doubt  if  any  one  ever  said,  even 
in  a  whisper  and  to  himself,  "  Now  I  love  my  Saviour  as  much 
as  a  human  soul  can." 

You  speak  of  my  having  given  you  "  counsels."  Have  I  had 
the  presumption  to  do  that?  Two-thirds  of  the  time  I  feel  as 
if  1  wanted  somebody  to  counsel  me  ;  the  only  thing  I  really 
ivnow  that  you  do  not,  is  what  it  is  to  be  beaten  with  persistent 


0\    THE    MOUNT. 


305 


ceaseless  stripes,  year  after  year,  year  after  year,  with  scarcely 
breathing  time  between.  I  don't  know  whether  this  is  most  an 
argument  against  me,  or  foj-  God  ;  on  the  whole  it  is  most  for 
Him,  who  was  so  good  and  kind  as  never  to  spare  me  for  my 
writhing  and  groaning.  Truly  as  I  value  this  discipline,  I  want 
you  to  give  yourself  to  Him  so  unreservedly  that  you  will  not 
need  such  sharp  treatment.  I  am  not  going  to  keep  writing 
and  getting  you  in  debt.  All  I  ask  is  if  you  ever  feel  a  little 
under  the  weather  and  want  a  specially  loving  or  cheering 
word,  to  give  me  the  chance  to  speak  or  write  it. 

A  chapter  might  be  written  about  Mrs.  Prentiss'  love  for 
little  children,  the  enthusiasm  with  which  she  studied  all  their 
artless  ways,  her  delight  in  their  beauty,  and  the  reverence 
with  which  she  regarded  the  mystery  of  their  infant  being. 
Her  faith  in  their  real,  complete  humanity,  their  susceptibility 
to  spiritual  influences,  and,  when  called  from  earth,  their  blessed 
immortality  in  and  through  Christ,  was  very  vivid  ;  and  it  was 
untroubled  by  any  of  those  distressing  doubts,  or  misgivings, 
that  are  engendered  by  the  materialistic  spirit  and  science  of  the 
age.  Contempt  for  them  shocked  her  as  an  offence  against  the 
Holy  Child  Jesus,  their  King  and  Saviour.  Her  very  look  and 
manner  as  she  took  a  young  infant,  especially  a  sick  or  dying 
infant,  in  her  arms  and  gave  it  a  loving  kiss,  seemed  to  say  : 

Sweet  baby,  little  as  thou  art, 

Thou  art  a  human  whole  ; 
Thou  hast  a  little  human  heart, 

Thou  hast  a  deathless  soul.' 

The  following  letter  to  a  Christian  mother,  dated  May  I3tli, 
will  show  her  feeling  on  this  subject : 

This  morning  we  attended  the  funeral  of  a  little  baby,  eight 
months  old.  My  husband,  in  his  remarks,  said  that  th.  »ugh  born 
and  ever  continuing  to  be  a  sufferer,  it  was  never  saddened  by 
this  fellowship  with  Christ  ;  and  that  he  believed  it  was  a  par- 
taker  of  His  holiness,  and  glad  through  Ilis  indwelling,  even 
though  unconscious  of  it.  During  the  last  days  of  its  life, 
after  each   paroxysm   of   coughing,  it  would   look  first  at   its 

>   Hartley  Coleridge's  Poems.     \'t.l.  II.,  p.  139. 
7.0 


306  THE    LIFE    CF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

mother,  then  at  its  father,  for  sympathy,  and  then  look  upward 
with  a  face  radiant  beyond  description.  I  can't  tell  you  how 
it  touched  me  to  think  that  I  had  in  that  baby  a  little  Christian 
sistcf  —ndt  merely  redeemed,  but  sanctified  from  its  birth — and 
I  know  it  will  touch  and  strengthen  you  to  hear  of  it.  I  felt  a 
reverence  for  that  tiny,  lifeless  form,  that  I  can  not  put  into 
words.  And,  indeed,  why  should  it  be  harder  for  God  to  enter 
into  the  soul  of  an  infant  than  into  our  "unlikeliest "  ones? 
....  I  see  more  and  more  that  if  we  have  within  us  the  mind 
of  Christ,  we  must  bear  the  burden  of  other  griefs  than  our 
own  ;  He  did  not  merely //(y  suffering  humanity  ;  He  bore  our 
griefs,  and  in  all  our  afflictions  He  was  afflicted. 

If  you  can  get  hold  of  the  April  number  of  the  Bibliotheca 

Sacra,  read  an  article  in  it  called  "  Psychology  in  the 

a>ndZ\    Life,  Work  and  Teachings  of  Jesus."     I  think  it  very 

ymiet,    striking  and  very  true.      Praying  for   Dr.  this 

morning,  I  had  such  a  peaceful  feeling  that  he  was 
safe.  Do  you  feel  so  about  him  ?  I  had  a  very  different  ex- 
perience about  another  man  who  has  been  to  see  me  since  I 
began  this  letter,  and  who  said  I  was  the  first  happy  person  he 
ever  met.  May  God  lay  that  to  his  heart !  .  .  .  .  Rummaging 
among  dusty  things  in  the  attic  this  forenoon  with  great  re- 
pugnance, I  found  such  a  beautiful  letter  from  my  husband, 
written  for  my  solace  in  Switzerland  when  he  was  in  Paris 
(he  wrote  me  every  day,  sometimes  twice  a  day,  during 
the  two  months  of  our  enforced  separation)  that  even  the 
drudgery  of  getting  my  hands  soiled  and  my  back  broken  was 
sweetened.  That's  the  way  God  keeps  on  spoiling  us  ;  one 
good  thing  after  another  till  we  are  ashamed.  Well,  let  us  step 
onward,  hand  in  hand.  I  wonder  which  of  us  will  outrun  the 
other  and  step  i?i  first  ?     I  am  so  glad  I'm  willing  to  live. 

In  the  course  of  this  spring  The  ParjswzLS  published.  The 
story  first  came  out  as  a  serial  in  the  New  York  Observer.  It 
was  translated  into  French  under  the  title  La  Famillc  Percy. 
In  1876  a  German  version  appeared  under  the  title  Die  Fam- 
Hie  Percy.     It  was  also  republished  in  London.' 

1  But  greatly  to  Mrs.  Prentiss'  annoyance,  with  the  title  changed  to  Ever  Heavenward 
— *5  if  to  make  it  appear  to  be  a  sequel  to  Stepping  Heavenward. 


ON   THE    MOUNT.  307 


IIL 


[vines  on  going  to  Dorset.  A  Cloud  over  her.  Faber's  Life.  Loving  Friends  for  one'l 
own  sake  and  loving  them  for  Christ's  sake.  The  Bible  and  the  Ciiristiai.  Life. 
Dorset  Society  and  Occupations.  Counsels  to  a  young  Friend  in  Trouble.  "  Don'l 
stop  prayin;;  for  your  Life  ! "  Cure  for  the  Heart-sickness  caused  by  a  Sight  of  hu* 
man  Imperfections.  Fenelon's  Teaching  about  Humihation  and  being  patient  w  iib 
Ourselves. 

The   following  lines,  found  among    lior  papers  after  her 
death,  show  in  what  spirit  she  went  to  Dorset : 

Once  more  I  change  my  home,  once  more  begin 

Life  in  this  rural  stillness  and  repose  ; 
But  I  have  brought  with  me  my  heart  of  sin, 

And  sin  nor  quiet  nor  cessation  knows. 

Ah,  when  I  make  the  final,  blessed  change, 

I  shall  leave  that  behind,  shall  throw  aside 
Earth's  soiled  and  soiling  garments,  and  shall  range 

Through  purer  regions  like  a  youthful  bride. 

Thrice  welcome  be  that  day  !     Do  thou,  meanwhile. 

My  soul,  sit  ready,  unencumbered  wait ; 
The  Master  bides  thy  coming,  and  His  smile 

Shall  bid  thee  welcome  at  the  golden  gate. 

Dorset,  June  15,  1S70. 

I  would  love  to  have  you  herewith  me  in  this  dear  little  den 

of  mine  and  see  the  mountains  from  my  window.     My 

2;mS;    husband  has  gone  back  to  town,  and  my  only  society 

^unTis,   is  that  of  the  children,  so  you  would  be  most  welcome 

1870.  '    if   you   should  come  in   either   smiling  or  sighing.     I 

have  had   a  cloud  over  me  of  late.     Do  you  know  about  Mr. 

Pr-entiss'  appointment  by  General  Assembly  to  a  professorship 

at  Chicago  ?     His  going  would   involve   not   only  our  tearing 

ourselves  out  of  the  heart  of  our  beloved  church,  but  of  niy 

losing  you  and  Miss   K.,  and  of  our  all  losing  this  dear  little 

home.     Of  course,  he  does  not  want  to  go,  and  I  am  shocked 

at  the  thought  of  his   leaving  the  ministry;  but,  on  the  other 

hand,  there  is   a   right   and  a  wrong  to   the   question,  and  wc 

ought  to  want  to   do  whatever  God  chooses.     The  thought  of 

giving  up  this  home  makes  me  know  better  how  to  sympathise 


308  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

with  you  if  you  have  to  part  with  yours.  I  do  think  it  is  good 
for  us  to  be  emptied  from  vessel  to  vessel,  and  there  is  some- 
thing awful  in  the  thought  of  having  our  own  way  with  lean- 
ness in  the  soul,  I  am  greatly  pained  in  reading  Faber's  Lite 
and  Letters,  at  the  shocking  way  in  which  he  speaks  of  Mary, 
calling  her  his  mamma,  and  praying  to  her  and  to  Joseph,  and 
nobody  knows  who  not.  It  seems  almost  incredible  that  this 
is  the  man  who  wrote  those  beautiful  strengthening  hymns. 
It  sets  one  to  praying  "  Hold  Thou  me  up  and  I  shall  be  safe." 
....  I  should  have  forgotten  the  lines  of  mine  you  quote  if 
you  had  not  copied  them.  God  give  to  you  and  to  me  a  thou- 
sandfold more  of  the  spirit  they  breathe,  and  make  us  wholly, 
wholly  His  own  !  My  repugnance  to  go  to  Chicago  makes  m^ 
feel  that  perhaps  that  is  just  the  wrench  I  need.  Well,  good- 
bye ;  at  the  longest  we  have  not  long  to  stay  in  this  sphere  o\ 
discipline  and  correction. 

I  had  just  come  home  from  a  delicious  little  tramp  through 
our  own  woods  when  your  letter  came,  and  now,  if 
G.  s\  A,  you  knew  what  was  good  for  you,  you  would  drop  in 
7u/Ti3  ^^^  ^^^^  ^^^  ^^^  spend  the  evening  with  us.  I  should 
^^7°-  like  3^ou  to  see  our  house  and  our  mountains,  and  our 
cup  that  runs  over  till  we  are  ashamed.  Had  I  not  known  you 
wouldn't  come  I  should  have  given  you  a  chance,  especially  as 
my  husband  was  gone  and  I  v/as  rather  lonely  ;  though  to  be 
sure  he  always  writes  me  every  day.  On  the  way  up  here  I 
was  glad  of  time  to  think  out  certain  things  I  had  been  waiting 
for  leisure  to  attend  to.  One  had  some  connection  with  you, 
as  well  as  one  or  two  other  friends.  I  had  long  felt  that  there 
was  a  real,  though  subtle,  difference  between  human — and, 
shall  I  say  divine  ? — affection,  but  did  iiOt  see  just  what  it  vv^as. 
Turning  it  over  in  my  mind  that  day,  it  suddenly  came  to  me 
as  this.  Human  friendship  may  be  entirely  selfish,  giving  only 
to  receive  in  return,  or  may  be  partially  so — yet  still  selfish. 
But  the  love  that  grows  out  of  the  love  of  Christ,  and  that  de- 
lights in  His  image  wherever  it  is  seen,  claims  no  response  ; 
loves  because  it  is  its  very  nature  to  do  so,  because  it  can  not 
help  it,  and  this  without  regard  to  what  its  object  gives.  1 
dare  not  pretend  that  I  have  fully  reached  this  state,  but  1 
have  entered  this  land,  and  know  that  it  is  one  to  be  desired  as 


ON  TH1-:  Mount 


309 


a  home,  an  abiding  place.  I  have  thought  painfully  of  the  nar- 
row quarters  and  the  hot  nights  endured  by  so  many  in  New 
York,  during  this  unusually  warm  weather — especially  of  Mrs 
G.  with  three  restless  children  in  bed  with  her  and  her  pooi 
lonely  heart.  I  can  not  but  believe  that  Christ  has  real  pur- 
poses of  mercy  to  her  soul.  I  feel  interested  in  Mr.  II. 's  sum- 
mer work  in  a  hard  field.  In  place  of  aversion  to  young  men, 
I  am  beginning  to  realise  how  true  work  for  Christ  one  may  du 
by  praying  persistently  for  them,  especially  those  consecrated  to 
the  ministry  of  His  gospel.  I  do  hope  Christ  will  have  the 
whole  of  you,  and  that  you  will  have  the  whole  of  Him.  When 
you  write,  let  me  know  how  you  like  my  beloved  Fenelon. 
Still,  you  may  not  like  him.  Some  Christians  never  get  to  feed- 
ing on  these  mystical  writers,  and  get  on  without  them. 

I  was  greatly  struck  with  these  words  yesterday  :  ^'  As  for 
ro  Mrs  ^°^  ^^^  '^^^y  ^^  perfect";  think  of  reading  the  Bible 
Cojidict,    througfh  four  times  in  one  year,  and  nobody  knuws 

JJorsef,  ^  .  .  ,  '  .  , 

JuiyiS,    how  many  times    smce,  and    never  resting  on   these 
^  ^°"      words.    Somehow  they  charmed  mc.    And  these  words 
have  been  ringing  in  my  ears, 

•'  Earth  looks  so  little  and  so  low," 

while  conscious  that  when  I  can  get  ferns  and  flowers,  it  does 
not  look  so  "little"  or  so  "low,"  as  it  does  when  I  c:in't.  My 
cook,  who  is  a  Romanist,  has  been  prevented  from  going  to 
her  own  church  seven  miles  off,  by  the  weather,  ever  since  we 
came  here,  and  last  Sunday  said  she  meant  to  go  to  ours.  Mr. 
P.  preached  on  God's  character  as  our  Physician,  and  she  was 
delighted.  I  think  it  was  hearing  one  of  his  little  letters  to 
the  children  that  made  her  realise,  that  he  was  a  Christian  man 
whom  she  might  safely  hear  ;  at  any  rate,  I  feel  greatly  pleased 
and  comforted  that  she  could  appreciate  such  a  subject.  I  feat 
you  are  suffering  from  the  weather;  we  never  knew  anything 
like  it  here.  We  do  not  suffer,  but  wake  up  every  morning 
bat/icd  in  a  breeze  that  refreshes  for  the  day  ;  I  mean  we  do  not 
suffer  while  we  keep  still.  I  am  astonished  at  God's  goodness  in 
giving  us  this  place  ;  not  His  goodness  itself,  but  towards  us.  If 
Mrs.  Brinsmade'  left  much  of  such  material  as  the  extract  you 
Wife  of  the  late  Rev.  Horatio  Erinsmadc,  D.D.,  of  Newark,  N.  J. 


310  THE    LIFE    OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

sent  me,  I  wonder  Dr.  B.  did  not  write  her  memoir.  The  more 
I  read  of  what  Christ  said  about  faith,  the  more  impressed  1 
am.  Just  now  I  am  on  the  last  chapters  in  the  gospel  of  John, 
and  feel  as  if  I  had  never  read  them  before.  They  are  just 
wonderful.  We  have  to  read  the  Bible  to  understand  the  Chris- 
tian life,  and  we  must  penetrate  far  into  that  life  in  order  to 
understand  the  Bible.  How  beautifully  the  one  interprets  the 
other  !  I  want  you  to  let  me  know,  without  telling  her  that  I 
asked  3^ou,  if  Miss  K.  could  make  me  a  visit  if  it  were  not  for 
the  expense  ? 

Did  you  ever  use  a  fountain  pen  ?  I  have  had  one  given  me, 
To  Miss  E.  ^^^  lik^  it  so  much  that  I  sent  for  one  for  my  hus- 
A.  Warner,  band,  and  one  for   Mr.   Pratt.     When   one   wants    to 

Dorset,  ' 

July  20,  write  in  one's  lap,  or  out  of  doors,  it  is  delightful. 
'  ■  Mrs.  Field  came  over  from  East  Dorset  on  Sunday  to 
have  her  baby  baptized.  They  had  him  there  in  the  church 
through  the  whole  morning  service,  and  he  was  as  quiet  as  any 
of  us.  The  next  day  Mrs.  F.  came  down  and  spent  the  morning 
with  me,  sweeter,  more  thoughtful  than  ever,  if  changed  at  all. 
Dr.  and  Mrs.  Humphrey,  of  Philadelphia,  are  passing  the  sum- 
mer here  at  the  tavern,  and  we  spend  most  of  our  evenings 
there,  or  they  come  here.  Mrs.  H.  is  a  very  superior  woman, 
and  though  I  was  determined  not  to  like  her,  because  I  have  so 
many  people  on  hand  already,  I  found  I  could  not  help  it.  She 
is  as  furious  about  mosses  and  lichens  and  all  such  things  as  I 
am,  and  the  other  day  took  home  a  bushcl-baskct  of  them.  She 
is  an  earnest  Christian,  and  has  passed  through  deep  waters  ;  I 
ought  to  have  reversed  the  order  of  those  clauses.  Excuse  this 
rather  hasty  letter  ;  I  feared  you  might  fancy  your  book  lost. 
If  you  are  alive,  let  me  know  it,  also  if  you  are  dead. 

I   dare   not  answer  your  letter,  just   received,   in   my  own 
To  a  young  Strength,  but  must  pray  over  it  long.     It  is  a  great 
2;;Sf'     ^^i"S  ^°  learn  how  far  our  doubts  and  despondencies 
Aug.  8^     are  the  direct  result  of  physical  causes,  and  another 
^  ^°'       great  thing  is,  when  we  can  not  trace  any  such  con- 
nexion, to  bear  patiently  and  quietly  what  God  permits,  if  He 
does  not  authorise.    I  have  no  more  doubt  that  you  love  Him,  and 
that  He  loves  you,  than  that  I  love  Him  and  that  He  loves  me. 
Vou  have  been  daily  in  my  prayers.     Temptations  and  c^nflicl 


ON   THE   MOUNT.  3II 

are  inseparable  from  the  Christian  life  ;  no  strange  thing  has 
happened  to  you.  Let  me  comfort  you  with  the  assurance  that 
you  will  be  taught  more  and  more  by  God's  Spirit  how  to  re- 
sist ;  and  that  true  strength  and  holy  manhood  will  spring  up 
from  this  painful  soil.  Try  to  take  heart ;  there  is  more  tlian 
one  foot-print  on  the  sands  of  time  to  prove  that  "some  forlorn 
and  shipwrecked  brother"  has  traversed  them  before  you,  and 
come  off  conqueror  through  the  Beloved.  Doiit  stop  praying  for 
yam'  life.  Be  as  cold  and  emotionless  as  you  please  ;  God  will 
accept  your  naked  faith,  when  it  has  no  glow  or  warmth  in  it  ; 
and  in  His  own  time  the  loving,  glad  heart  will  come  back  to 
you.  I  deeply  feel  for  and  with  you,  and  have  no  doubt  that  a 
week  among  these  mountains  would  do  more  towards  uniting 
you  to  Christ  than  a  mile  of  letters  would.  You  can't  complain 
of  any  folly  to  which  I  could  not  plead  guilty.  I  have  put  my 
Saviour's  patience  to  every  possible  test,  and  how  I  love  Ilim 
when  I  think  what  He  will  put  up  with. 

You  ask  if  I  "ever  feel  that  religion  is  a  sham"?  No, 
never.  I  kiww  it  is  a  reality.  If  you  ask  if  I  am  ever  staggered 
bv  the  inconsistencies  of  professing  Christians,  I  say  yes,  I  am 
often  made  heartsick  by  them  ;  but  heartsickness  always  makes 
me  run  to  Christ,  and  one  good  look  at  Him  pacifies  me.  This 
is  in  fact  my  panacea  for  every  ill  ;  and  as  to  my  own  sinful- 
ness, that  would  certainly  overwhelm  me  if  I  spent  much  time 
in  looking  at  it.  But  it  is  a  monster  whose  face  I  do  not  love 
to  see  ;  I  turn  from  its  hideousness  to  the  beauty  of  His  face 
who  sins  not,  and  the  sight  of  "yon  lovely  Man"  ravishes  me. 
But  at  your  age  I  did  this  only  by  fits  and  starts,  and  suffered 
as  you  do.  So  I  know  how  to  feel  for  you,  and  what  to  ask  for 
you,  God  purposely  sickens  us  of  man  and  of  self,  that  we 
may  learn  to  "look  long  at  Jesus." 

And  this  brings  me  to  what  you  say  about  Fenclon's  going 
too  far,  when  he  says  we  may  judge  of  the  depth  of  our  humil- 
ity by  our  delight  in  humiliation,  etc.  No,  he  does  not  go  a 
bit  too  far.  Paul  says,  "I  will  glory  in  my  infirmities"—"! 
12^^. pleasure  in  infirmities,  in  reproaches,  in  necessities,  in  jn-r- 
secution,  in  distresses  for  Christ's  sake  ;  for  when  I  am  weak, 
then  am  I  strong."  I  think  this  a  great  attainment ;  but  that 
His  disciples  may  reach  it,  though  only  through  a  humbling, 
painful   process.     Then  as  to  God's   glory.      Wc  say,  "Man's 


312  THE    LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

chief  end  is  to  glorify  God  and  enjoy  Him  forever."  Now,  can 
we  enjoy  Him  till  we  do  glorify  Him  ?  Can  we  enjoy  Him 
while  living  for  ourselves,  while  indulging  in  sin,  while  prayer- 
less  and  cold  and  dead  ?  Does  not  God  directly  seek  our  high- 
est happiness  when  He  strips  us  of  vainglory  and  self-love,  em- 
bitters the  poisonous  draught  of  mere  human  felicity,  and 
makes  us  fall  down  before  Him  lost  in  the  sense  of  His  beauty 
and  desirableness  ?  The  connexion  between  glorifying  and  en- 
joying Him  is,  to  my  mind,  perfect — one  following  as  the  neces- 
sary sequence  of  the  other  ;  and  facts  bear  me  out  in  this.  He 
who  has  let  self  go  and  lives  only  for  the  honor  of  God,  is  the 
free,  the  happy  man.  He  is  no  longer  a  slave,  but  has  the  lib- 
erty of  the  sons  of  God;  for  "him  who  honors  me,  I  will 
honor."  Satan  has  befogged  you  on  this  point.  He  dreads  to 
see  you  ripen  into  a  saintly,  devoted,  useful  man.  He  hopes 
to  overwhelm  and  ruin  you.  But  he  will  not  prevail.  You  have 
solemnly  given  yourself  to  the  Lord  ;  you  have  chosen  the 
work  of  winning  and  feeding  souls  as  your  life-work,  and  you 
can  not,  must  not  go  back.  These  conflicts  are  the  lot  of  those 
who  are  training  to  be  the  Lord's  true  yoke-fellows.  Christ's 
sweetest  consolations  lie  behind  crosses,  and  He  reserves  His 
best  things  for  those  who  have  the  courage  to  press  forward, 
fighting  for  them.  I  entreat  you  to  turn  your  eyes  away  from 
self,  from  man,  and  look  to  Christ.  Let  me  assure  you,  as  a 
fellow-traveller,  that  I  have  been  on  the  road  and  know  it  well, 
and  that  by  and  by  there  won't  be  such  a  dust  on  it.  You  will 
meet  with  hindrances  and  trials,  but  will  fight  quietly  through, 
and  no  human  ear  hear  the  din  of  battle,  no  human  eye  per- 
ceive fainting  or  halting  or  fall.  May  God  bless  you,  and  be- 
come to  you  an  ever-present,  joyful  reality  !  Indeed  He  will  ; 
only  wait  patiently. 

In  glancing  over  this,  I  see  that  I  have  here  and  there  re- 
peated myself.  Do  excuse  it.  I  believe  it  is  owing  to  the  way 
the  flies  harass  and  distract  me. 

August  i']th. — I  feel  truly  grateful  to  God  if  I  have  been  of 
any  comfort  to  you.  I  know  only  too  well  the  shock  of  seeing 
professors  of  even  sinless  perfection  guilty  of  what  I  consider 
sinful  sin,  and  my  whole  soul  was  so  staggered  that  for  some 
days  I  could  not  pray,  but  could  only  say,  "  O  God,  if  there  be 
any  God,  come  to    my  rescue."  ....  But  God   loves   bettei 


ox   THE    MOUNT.  313 

than  He  knows  us,  and  foresaw  every  infidelity  before  He 
called  us  to  Himself.  Nothing  in  us  takes  Him,  therefore,  by 
surprise.  Fenelon  teaches  wiiat  no  other  writei  does — to  be 
"patient  with  ourselves,"  and  I  think  as  you  penetrate  into  tlie 
Christian  life,  you  will  agree  with  him  on  every  point  as  I  do. 

August  \()t/L — I  have  had  a  couple  of  rather  sickish  days  since 
writing  the  above,  but  am  all  right  again  now.  Hot  weather 
does  not  agree  with  me.  I  used  to  reproach  myself  for  relig- 
ious stupidity  when  not  well,  but  see  now  that  God  is  my  kind 
Father — not  my  hard  taskmaster,  expecting  me  to  be  full  of 
life  and  zeal  when  physically  exhausted.  It  takes  long  to  learn 
such  lessons.  One  has  to  penetrate  deeply  into  the  heart  of  Christ 
to  begin  to  know  its  tenderness  and  sympathy  and  forbearance. 

You  can't  imagine  how  Miss  K.  has  luxuriated  in  her  visit, 
nor  how  good  she  thinks  we  all  are.  She  holds  views  to  which 
I  can  not  quite  respond,  but  I  do  not  condemn  or  reject  them. 
She  is  a  modest,  praying,  devoted  woman  ;  not  disposed  to  ob- 
trude, much  less  to  urge  her  opinions  ;  full  of  Christian  char- 
ity and  forbearance  ;  and  I  am  truly  thankful  that  she  prays 
for  me  and  mine  ;  in  fact,  she  loves  to  pray  so,  that  when  she 
gets  hold  of  a  new  case,  she  acts  as  one  does  who  has  found  a 
treasure. 

I  wish  you  were  looking  out  with  me  on  the  beautiful  array 
of  mountains  to  be  seen  from  every  window  of  our  house  and 
breathing  this  delicious  air. 

September  25///. — We  expect  now  to  go  home  on  Friday  next, 
though  if  I  had  known  how  early  the  foliage  was  going  to  turn 
this  year,  I  should  have  planned  to  stay  a  week  longer  to  see 
it  in  all  its  glory.  It  is  looking  very  beautiful  even  now,  and 
our  eyes  have  a  perpetual  feast.  We  have  had  a  charming 
summer,  but  one  does  not  want  to  play  all  the  time,  and  I  hope 
God  has  work  of  some  sort  for  me  to  do  at  home  during  the 
winter.  Meanwhile,  I  wush  I  could  send  you  a  photograph  of 
the  little  den  where  I  am  now  writing,  and  the  rustic  adornings 
which  make  it  sui  generis,  and  the  bit  of  Avoods  to  be  seci.  from 
its  windows,  that,  taking  the  lead  of  all  other  Dorset  woods, 
have  put  on  floral  colors,  just  because  they  are  ours  and  know 
we  want  them  looking  their  best  before  we  go  away.  But  this 
wish  must  yield  to  fate,  like  many  another  ;  and,  as  I  have 
come  to  the  end  of  my  paper,  I  will  love  and  leave  you. 


314  THE    LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

IV. 

The  Story  Lizzie  Told.  Country  and  City.  The  Law  of  Christian  Progress.  Letlen 
to  a  Friend  bereft  of  three  Children.  Sudden  Death  of  another  Friend.  "  Go  on 
step  faster."  Fenelon  and  his  Influence  upon  her  religious  Life.  Lines  on  her  In 
debtedness  to  him. 

The  Story  Lizzie  Told  \Yd.s  published  about  this  time.  It 
had  already  appeared  in  the  Rivcx-side  Magazine.  The  occa- 
sion of  the  story  was  a  passage  in  a  letter  from  London  writ- 
ten by  a  friend,  which  described  in  a  very  graphic  and  touch- 
ing way  the  yearly  exhibition  of  the  Society  for  the  Promo- 
tion  of  Window  Gardening  among  the  Poor.  The  exhibition 
was  held  at  the  ''  Dean's  close"  at  Westminster  and  the  Earl 
of  Shaftesbury  gave  the  prizes.' 

No  one  of  Mrs.  Prentiss's  smaller  works,  perhaps,  has  been 
so  much  admired  as  The  Story  Lizzie  Told.  It  was  written  at 
Dorset  in  the  course  of  a  single  day,  if  not  at  a  single  sitting ; 
and  so  real  was  the  scene  to  her  imagination  that,  on  reading 
it  in  the  evening  to  her  husband,  she  had  to  stop  again  and 
again  from  the  violence  of  her  emotion.  ''What  a  little  fool 
I  am  1  "  she  would  say,  after  a  fresh  burst  of  tears.' 

'  "Polly"  was  particularly  happy;  six  years  old,  I  should  say,  shabby,  though  evi- 
dently washed  up  for  the  occasion,  and  very  pretty  and  all  pink  with  excitement. 
"  Polly,  I  knowcd  you'd  get  a  prize,"  I  heard  a  young  woman,  tired  out  with  canying 
her  own  big  baby,  say.  And  then  she  came  upon  her  own  geranium  with  three  blossoms 
on  it  and  marked  "  Second  Prize,"  and  said,  "  I  can't  believe  it,"  when  they  told  her  that 
that  meant  six  shillings.  But  the  plant  which  my  companion  and  myself  both  cried  over, 
was  a  Httlc  bit  of  a  weedy  marigold,  the  one  poor  httle  flower  on  it  carefully  fastened 
about  with  a  paper  ring,  such  a-  high  and  mighty  greenhouse  men  sometimes  put  round 
A  choice  rose  in  bud.  That  was  all ;  just  this  one  common,  very  single  little  flower,  with 
*'  Lizzie"  Something's  name  attached  and  the  name  of  her  street.  All  the  streets  were 
put  upon  the  tickets  and  added  greatly  to  the  pathetic  effect ;  just  the  poorest  lanes  and 
alleys  in  London.  Nobody  seemed  to  claim  the  marigold.  Perhaps  it  was  the  great 
treasure  of  some  sick  child  wlio  couldn't  come  to  look  at  it.  It  was  certain  not  to  get  a 
prize,  but  the  child  has  found  something  by  this  time  tucked  down  in  the  pot  and  care- 
fully covered  over  by  F.,  when  no  one  was  looking,  with  a  pinch  of  earth  taken  from  a 
more  prosperous  plant  alongside. 

2  Miss  W.  showed  me  a  very  pleasant  letter  of  Lady  Augusta  Stanley,  the  wife  of 
Dean  Stanley,  to  a  MissC,  through  whom  she  received  from  Miss  W.'s  little  niece  a 
copy  of  The  Story  Lizzie  Told.  Lady  Stanley  is  herself,  I  believe,  at  the  head  of  the  Si) 
riety  which  holds  the  annual  Flower  Show.  She  says  in  her  letter  that  me  had  just  re 
turned  from  Scotland,  reaching  home  quite  late  in  the  evening.  Before  retiring,  how 
fver,  she  had  read  your  story  through.  She  praises  it  very  warmly,  and  wonders  ho\« 
anybody  but  a  "Londoner"  could  have  written  it.— Z,6'//^;  to  Mrs.  P.,  dated  Neu 
York,  September,  1872. 


ON    Till::    MOUNT. 


315 


Your  letter  catne  in  the  midst  of  the  wear  and  tear  of  A.'£ 
_   ,,        return   to  us.     We  were  kept  in  suspense  about  her 

To  Mrs.  TV  T         1  1  1 

Leonard,  from  Monday,  when  she  was  due,  till  , Friday  when  she 
^'Z^'cLiL^'  came,  and  it  is  years  since  I  have  got  so  excited  and 
1S70.  wrought  up.  They  had  a  dreadful  passage,  but  she 
v\'as  not  sick  at  all.  Prof.  Smith  is  looking  better  than  I  ever 
saw  him,  and  we  are  all  most  happy  in  being  together  once 
more.  I  can  truly  re-echo  your  wish  that  you  lived  half  way 
between  us  and  Dorset,  for  then  we  should  see  you  once  a  y(.'ar 
at  least.  I  miss  you  and  long  to  see  you.  How  true  it  is  that 
each  friend  has  a  place  of  his  own  that  no  one  else  can  fill  !  I 
do  not  doubt  that  the  13th  of  October  was  a  silvery  wedding- 
day  to  your  dear  husband.  His  loss  has  made  Christ  dearer  tu 
you,  and  so  has  made  your  union  more  perfect.  I  suppose  you 
were  never  so  much  one  as  you  are  now. 

We  have  had  a  delightful  summer,  not  really  suffering  from 
the  heat  ;  though,  of  course,  we  felt  it  more  or  less.     All  our 

nights  were  cool I  can  not  tell  you  how  Mr.  P.  and  myself 

enjoy  our  country  home.  It  seems  as  if  we  had  slipped  into  our 
proper  nook.  But  if  we  are  going  to  do  any  more  brain  work, 
we  must  be  where  there  is  stimulus,  such  as  we  find  here. 
What  a  mixed-up  letter !  I  have  almost  forgotten  how  to 
write,  in  adorning  my  house  and  sowing  my  seeds  and  the  like, 

I  deeply  appreciate  the  Christian  kindness  that  prompted 
you   to  write  me  in  the  midst  of  your  sorrow.     I  was 

To  Mrs.     ^  -^ 

Frederick  prepared  for  the  sad  news  by  a  dream  only  last  night. 

Nexv^York,  ^  fancied  myself  seeing  your  dear  little  boy  lying  very 
Oct  19,  restlessly  on  his  bed,  and  proposing  to  carry  him 
about  in  my  arms  to  relieve  him.  He  made  no  ob- 
jection, and  I  walked  up  and  down  with  him  a  long,  long 
lime,  when  some  one  of  the  family  took  him  from  me.  In- 
stantly his  face  was  illumined  by  a  wondrous  smile  of  delight 
that  he  was  to  leave  the  arms  of  a  stranger  to  go  to  those  fa- 
miliar to  him — such  a  smile,  that  when  I  awoke  this  morning  1 
Gaid  to  myself,  "Eddy  Field  has  gone  to  the  arms  of  his  Sav- 
iour, and  gone  gladly."  You  can  imagine  how  your  letter,  an 
hour  or  two  later,  touched  me.  But  you  have  better  consola- 
tion than  dreams  can  give  ;  in  the  belief  that  your  child  will  de- 
velop, without  spot  or  wrinkle  or  any  such  thing,  into  the  per- 


3l6  THE   LIFE   OF    MRS.  PRExNTISS. 

feet  likeness  of  Christ,  and  in  your  own  submission  to  the  un 
erring  will  of  God.  I  sometimes  think  that  patient  sufferers 
suffer  most ;  they  make  less  outer}'  than  others,  but  the  grief 
tliat  has  little  vent  wears  sorely. 

"  Grace  does  not  steel  the  faithful  heart 
That  it  should  feel  no  ill," 

and  you  have  many  a  pang  yet  before  you.  It  must  be  so  very 
hard  to  see  twin  children  part  company,  to  have  their  paths  di- 
verge so  soon.  But  the  shadow  of  death  will  not  always  rest 
on  your  home  ;  you  will  emerge  from  its  obscurity  into  such  a 
light  as  they  who  have  never  sorrowed  can  not  know.  We 
never  know,  or  begin  to  know,  the  great  Heart  that  loves  us 
best,  till  we  throw  ourselves  upon  it  in  the  hour  of  our  despair. 
Friends  say  and  do  all  they  can  for  us,  but  they  do  not  know 
what  we  suffer  or  what  we  need  ;  but  Christ,  who  formed,  has 
penetrated  the  depths  of  the  mother's  heart.  He  pours  in  the 
wine  and  the  oil  that  no  human  hand  possesses,  and  "  as  one 
whom  his  mother  comforteth,  so  will  He  comfort  you."  I  have 
lived  to  see  that  God  never  was  so  good  to  me  as  when  He 
seemed  most  severe.  Thus  I  trust  and  believe  it  will  be  with 
you  and  your  husband.  Meanwhile,  while  the  peaceable  fruits 
are  growing  and  ripening,  may  God  help  you  through  the 
grievous  time  that  must  pass — a  grievous  time  in  which  you 
have  my  warm  sympathy.     I  know  only  too  well  all  about  it. 

"  I  know  my  griefs  ;  but  then  my  consolations, 
My  joys,  and  my  immortal  hopes  I  know  " — 

joys  unknown  to  the  prosperous,  hopes  that  spring  from  seed 
long  buried  in  the  dust. 

I  shall  read  your  books  with  great  interest,  I  am  sure,  and 
who  knows  how  God  means  to  prepare  you  for  future  useful- 
ness along  the  path  of  pain  ?  "  Every  branch  that  beareth 
fr:it  He  purgeth  it,  that  it  may  bring  forth  more  fruit." 

What  an  epitaph  your  boy's  own  words  would  be — "It  is 
beautiful  to  be  dead  "  ! 

I  thank  you  so  much  for  your  letter  about  your  precious  cliil- 

^    ,       dren.    I  remember  them  well,  all  three,  and  do  not  won- 
To  the  ' 

Same,     der  that  the  death  of  your  iirst-born,  coming  upon  the 

Nov.  30, '  very  footsteps  of  sorrow,  has  so  nearly  crushed  you 

1870.      j^ut  what  beautiful  consolations  God  gave  you  by  his 


ON   THE    MOUNT.  317 

dying  bed!  "All  safe  at  God's  right  hand  !  "  What  more  can 
the  fondest  mother's  heart  ask  than  such  safety  as  this  ?  I  am 
sure  that  there  will  come  to  you,  sooner  or  later,  the  sense  of 
Christ's  love  in  these  repeated  sorrows,  that  in  your  present 
bewildered,  amazed  state  you  can  hardly  realise.  Let  me  tell 
you  that  I  have  tried  His  heart  in  a  long  storm — not  so  very 
different  from  yours — and  that  I  know  something  of  its  depths. 
I  will  enclose  you  some  lines  that  may  give  you  a  moment's 
light.  Please  not  to  let  them  go  out  of  your  hands,  for  no  one 
— not  even  my  husband — has  ever  seen  them.  I  am  going  to 
send  my  last  book  to  your  lonely  little  boy.  You  will  not  feel 
like  reading  it  now,  but  perhaps  the  33d  chapter,  and  some  that 
follow,  may  not  jar  upon  you  as  the  earlier  part  would. 

To  go  back  again  to  the  subject  of  Christ's  love  for  us,  of 
which  I  never  tire,  I  want  to  make  you  feel  that  His  sufferers 
are  Flis  happiest,  most  favored  disciples.  What  they  learn 
about  Him — His  pitifulness,  His  unwillingness  to  hurt  us.  His 
haste  to  bind  up  the  very  wounds  He  has  inflicted — endear 
Him  so,  that  at  last  they  burst  out  into  songs  of  thanksgiving, 
that  His  "donation  of  bliss"  included  in  it  such  donation  of 
pain.  Perhaps  I  have  already  said  to  you,  for  I  am  fond  o^ 
saying  it, 

"The  love  of  Jesus — what  it  is, 
Only  His  sufferers  know." 

You  ask  if  your  heart  will  ever  be  lightsome  again.  Never 
again  with  the  lightsomeness  that  had  never  known  sorrow 
but  light  even  to  gayety  with  the  new  and  higher  love  born  of 
tribulation.  Just  as  far  as  a  heavenly  is  superior  even  to  ma- 
ternal love,  will  be  the  elevation  and  beauty  of  your  now  joy  ; 
a  joy  worth  all  it  costs.  I  know  what  sorrow  means  ;  I  know  it 
well.  But  I  know,  too,  what  it  is  to  pass  out  of  that  prison- 
house  into  a  peace  that  passes  all  understanding  ;  and  thou- 
sands can  say  the  same.  So,  my  dear  suffering  sister,  look  on 
and  look  up  ;  lay  hold  on  Christ  with  both  your  poor ^  empty  hatuh  ; 
let  Him  do  with  you  what  seemeth  Him  good  ;  though  Ho 
siay  \ou,  still  trust  in  Him  ;  and  I  dare  in  His  name  to  prom- 
ise }0u  a  sweeter,  better  life  than  you  could  have  known  had 
He  left  you  to  drink  of  the  full,  dangerous  cups  of  unmingled 
prosperity.  I  feel  such  real  and  living  sympathy  with  you,  tliat 
I  would  love  to  spend  weeks  by  your  side,  trying  to  bind  up 


3l8  THE    LIFE   OF    MRS.    I'REXTISS. 

your  broken  heart.  But  for  the  gospel  of  Christ,  to  hear  ol 
such  bereavements  as  yours  would  appall,  would  madden  one 
Yet,  what  a  halo  surrounds  that  word  "but"  ! 

I  have  not  behaved  according  to  my  wont,  and  visited  the 

To  Miss    ^'■■^'^  ^^'^^^  ^y  ""^^'"^y  ^^  ^  letter.    And  by  this  time  I  hope 

E.  A.  War- yo-^x  are  quite  well  again,  and  do  not  need  ghostly 

YotV,  Dec.  counsels I  have  felt  very  badly  about  Miss  Ly- 

14, 1870.  j^^^n's  dying  at  Vassar,  but  since  Mrs.  S.'s  visit  and 
learning  how  beloved  she  is  there,  have  changed  my  mind. 
What  does  it  matter,  after  all,  from  what  point  of  time  or  space 
we  go  home  ;  how  we  shall  smile,  after  we  get  there,  that  we 
ever  gave  it  one  moment's  thought !  You  ask  what  I  am  do- 
ing ;  well,  I  am  taking  a  vacation  and  not  writing  anything  to 
speak  of,  yet  just  as  busy  as  ever  ;  not  one  moment  in  which  to 
dawdle,  though  I  dare  say  I  seem  to  the  folks  here  at  home  to 
be  sitting  round  doing  nothing.  I  must  give  you  a  picture  of 
one  day  and  you  must  photograph  one  of  yours,  as  we  have 
done  before.  Got  up  at  seven  and  went  through  the  usual 
forms  ;  had  prayers  and  breakfast,  and  started  off  to  school 
with  M.  Came  home  and  had  a  nice  quiet  time  reading,  etc.  ; 
at  eleven  went  to  my  meeting,  which  was  a  tearful  one,  as  one 
of  our  members  who  knelt  with  us  only  a  week  before,  was  this 
day  to  be  buried  out  of  our  sight.  She  was  at  church  on  Sun- 
day afternoon  at  four  p.m.,  to  present  her  baby  in  baptism,  and 
at  half-past  two  the  following  morning  was  in  heaven.  We  all 
went  together  to  the  funeral  after  the  meeting,  and  gathered 
round  the  coffin  with  the  feeling  that  she  belonged  to  us. 
When  I  got  home  I  found  a  despatch  from  Miss  W.,  saying 
they  should  be  here  right  away.  I  had  let  one  of  my  women 
go  out  of  town  to  a  sick  sister,  so  I  must  turn  chamber-maid 
and  make  the  bed,  dust,  clear  out  closet,  cupboard,  and  bureau 
forthwith.  This  done,  they  arrived,  which  took  the  time  till 
half-past  seven,  when  I  excused  myself  and  went  to  an  evening 
meeting,  knowing  it  would  be  devoted  to  special  prayer  for  the 
husband  and  children  of  her  who  had  gone.  Got  home  half 
an  hour  behind  time  and  found  a  young  man  awaiting  me  v/ho 
was  converted  last  June,  as  he  hopes,  while  reading  Stepping 
Heavenward.  I  had  just  got  seated  by  him  when  our  doctor 
tvas  announced  ;  he  had  lost  his  only  grandchild  and  had  come 


ON    Tin-:    MOUNT.  y^ 

to  talk  about  it.  He  stayed  till  half-past  nine,  when  I  went 
back  to  my  young  friend,  who  stayed  till  half-past  ten  and 
gave  a  very  interesting  history  which  I  have  not  time  to  put  on 
paper.  He  writes  me  since,  how^ever,  about  his  Christian  lite 
that  "  it  gets  sweeter  and  sweeter,"  and  I  know  you  will  be  giad 
(or  me  that  I  have  this  joy. 

Saturday  Morning. — I  was  interrupted  there,  had  visitors,  had 
lo  go  to  a  fair,  company  again,  so  that  I  had  not  time  to  ea* 
the  food  I  needed,  w^ent  to  see  a  poor  sick  girl,  had  more  visitors 
and  at  last,  at  eleven  p.m.,  scrambled  into  bed.  Now  I  am  fin- 
ishing this,  and  if  nobody  hinders,  am  going  to  mail  it,  and 
then  go  after  a  block  of  ice-cream  for  that  sick  girl  (isn't  it 
nice,  w^e  can  get  it  now  done  up  in  little  boxes,  just  about  as 
much  as  an  invalid  can  eat  at  one  time).  Then  I  am  going  to 
see  a  poor  afflicted  soul  that  can't  get  any  light  on  her  sorrow. 
Here  comes  my  dear  old  man  to  read  his  sermon,  so  good-bye. 

I  have  been  led,  during  the  last  month  or  two,  to  a  new  love 

To  a  young  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  or  perhaps  to  more  consciousness 

5^20*    ^^  ^^^^  silent,  blessed  work  He  is  doing  in  and  for  us 

1870.  and  for  those  whose  souls  lie  as  a  heavy  and  yet  a  swce: 
burden  upon  our  own.  And  joining  with  you  in  your  prayers, 
seeking  also  for  myself  what  I  sought  for  you,  I  found  myself 
almost  startled  by  such  a  response  as  I  can  not  describe.  It 
was  not  joy,  but  a  deep  solemnity  wdiich  enfolded  me  as  with  a 
garment,  and  if  I  ever  pass  out  of  it,  which  I  never  want  to  do, 
T  hope  it  will  be  with  a  heart  more  than  ever  consecrated  and 
set  apart  for  Christ's  service.  The  more  I  reliect  and  the  more 
I  pray,  the  more  life  narrows  down  to  one  point — What  am  I 
being  for  Christ,  what  am  I  doing  for  Him  ?  Why  do  I  tell 
you  this  ?  Because  the  voice  of  a  fellow-traveller  alwa}s  stimu- 
lates his  brother-pilgrim  ;  what  one  finds  and  speaks  of  and 
rejoices  over,  sets  the  other  upon  determining^  to  find  too.  God 
has  been  very  good  to  you,  as  well  as  to  me,  but  we  ought  to 
whisper  to  each  other  now  and  then,  "  Go  on,  step  faster,  step 
sarer,  lay  hold  on  the  Rock  of  Ages  with  both  hands."  Vou 
never  need  be  afraid  to  speak  such  words  to  me.  I  want  to  be 
pushed  on,  and  pulled  on,  and  coaxed  on. 

The  allusion  to  her  "  beloved  Fenclon,"  in  several  of  the 


320  THE   IJFE   OF    MRS.    PRENTISS. 

preceding  letters,  renders  this  a  suitable  place  to  say  a  word 
about  him  and  his  influence  upon  her  religious  character. 
*'  Fenelon  I  lean  on,"  she  wrote.  Her  delight  in  his  writings 
dated  back  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century,  and  continued, 
unabated,  to  the  end  of  her  days.  She  regarded  him  with  a 
sort  of  personal  affection  and  reverence.  Her  copy  of  ''  Spiiit- 
ual  Progress,"  composed  largely  of  selections  from  his  works, 
is  crowded  with  pencil-marks  expressive  of  her  sympathy  and 
approval ;  not  even  her  Imitation  of  Christ,  Sacra  Privata, 
Pilgrim's  Progress,  Saints'  Everlasting  Rest,  or  Leighton  on 
the  First  Epistle  of  Peter,  contain  so  many.  These  pencil- 
marks  are  sometimes  very  emphatic,  underscoring  or  inclosing 
now  a  single  word,  now  a  phrase,  anon  a  whole  sentence  oi 
paragraph ;  and  it  requires  but  little  skill  to  decipher,  in  these 
rude  hieroglyphics,  the  secret  history  of  her  soul  for  a  third 
of  a  century — one  side,  at  least,  of  this  history.  What  she 
sought  with  the  greatest  eagerness,  what  she  most  loved  and 
most  hated,  her  spiritual  aims,  struggles,  trials,  joys  and  hopes, 
may  here  be  read  between  the  lines.  And  a  beautiful  testi- 
mony they  give  to  the  moral  depth,  purity  and  nobleness  of 
her  piety  I 

The  story  is  not,  indeed,  complete;  her  religious  life  had 
other  elements,  not  found,  or  only  partially  found,  in  Fenelon  ; 
elements  centering  directly  in  Christ  and  His  gospel,  and 
which  had  their  inspiration  in  her  Daily  Food  and  her  New 
Testament.  What  attracted  her  to  Fenelon  was  not  the  doc- 
trine of  salvation  as  taught  by  him — she  found  it  better  taught 
in  Bunyan  and  Leighton — it  was  his  marvellous  knowledge  of 
the  human  heart,  his  keen  insight  into  the  proper  workings  of 
nature  and  grace,  his  deep  spiritual  wisdom,  and  the  sweet 
m}^stic  tone  of  his  piety.  And  then  the  two  great  principles 
pervading  his  writings — that  of  pure  love  to  God  and  that  of 
self-crucifixion  as  the  way  to  perfect  love — fell  in  with  some 
of  her  own  favorite  views  of  the  Christian  life.  In  the  study 
of  Fenelon,  as  of  Madame  Guyon,  her  aim  was  a  purely  prac- 
tical one;  it  was  not  to  establish,  or  verify,  a  theory,  but  to 
get  aid  and  comfort  in  her  daily  course  heavenward.  What 
Fenelon  was  to  her  in  this  respect  she  has  herself  recorded  in 


UN   THE   MOUNT. 


321 


the  following  lines,  found,  after  her  death,  written  on  a  blank 
page  of  her  ''  Spiritual  Progress  ": 

Oh  wise  and  thoughtful  words  !  oh  counsel  sweet, 
Guide  in  my  wanderings,  spurs  unto  my  feet, 
How  often  you  have  met  me  on  the  way, 
And  turned  me  from  the  path  that  led  astray; 
Teaching  that  fault  and  folly,  sin  and  fall. 
Need  not  the  weary  pilgrim's  heart  appall  : 
Yea  more,  instructing  how  to  snatch  the  sting 
From  timid  conscience,  how  to  stretch  the  wing 
From  the  low  plane,  the  level  dead  of  sin. 
And  mount  immortal,  mystic  joys  to  win. 
One  hour  with  Jesus  !     How  its  peace  outweighs 
The  ravishment  of  earthly  love  and  praise  ; 
How  dearer  far,  emptied  of  self  to  lie 
Low  at  His  feet,  and  catch,  perchance.  His  eye. 
Alike  content  when  He  may  give  or  take, 
The  sweet,  the  bitter,  welcome  for  His  sake ! 


21 


CHAPTER    XI. 

IN   HER   HOME. 

The  letters  in  the  preceding  chapters  give  a  gh'mpse,  here 
and  there,  of  Mrs.  Prentiss'  home,  but  relate  chiefly  to  the  re- 
ligious side  of  her  character.  What  was  her  manner  of  life 
among  her  children?  How  were  her  temper  and  habits  as  a 
mother  affected  by  the  ardor  and  intensity  of  her  Christian 
feeling  ?  A  partial  answer  to  these  questions  is  contained  in 
letters  written  to  her  eldest  daughter,  while  the  latter  was 
absent  in  Europe.  These  letters  show  the  natural  side  of  her 
character;  and  although  far  from  reflecting  all  its  light  and 
beauty — no  words  could  do  that ! — they  depict  some  of  its 
most  interesting  traits.  They  are  frankness  itself  and  betray 
not  the  least  respect  of  persons  ;  but  if  she  speaks  her  mind  in 
them  without  much  let  or  hindrance,  it  is  always  done  in  the 
pleasantest  way.  In  the  portions  selected  for  publication  the 
aim  has  been  to  let  her  be  seen,  so  far  as  possible,  just  as  she 
appeared  in  her  daily  home-life,  both  in  town  and  country. 


I. 


Home-life  in  New  York. 

New  York,  October  -zi^  1869. 
I  HAVE  promised  to  walk  to  school  with  M.  this  morning, 
and  while  I  am  waiting  for  her  to  get  ready,  will  begin  my  let- 
ter to  yon.  We  got  home  from  seeing  you  off  all  tired  out,  and 
I  lay  on  the  sofa  all  the  time  till  I  went  to  bed,  except  while 
eating  my  dinner,  and  I  think  papa  did  pretty  much  the  same. 
The  moment  we  had  done  dinner,  H.  and  Jane  appeared,  carry- 
ing your  bureau  drawer  between  them,  and  we  had  a  great  time 
(322) 


TN   ITER   TTOMF. 


;^3 


over  the  presents  you  were  thouglitful  enoiirrh  to  leave  behiiul 
you.  My  little  sacque  makes  me  look  like  500  angels  instead 
of  one,  and  I  am  ever  so  glad  of  it,  and  the  children  were  all 
delighted  with  their  things. 

Well,  I  have  escorted  M.  to  school,  come  home  and  read  the 
Advance,  and  Hearth  and  Home,  and  it  is  now  eleven  o'clock 
and  the  door-bell  has  only  rung  twice !  Papa  says  you  are  out 
(•f  sight  of  land,  and  as  it  is  a  warm  day  and  we  are  comfort- 
able, we  hope  you  are.  But  it  is  dreadful  to  have  to  wait  so 
long  before  hearing. 

23^/. — Papa  says  this  must  be  mailed  by  nine  o'clock  ;  so  I 
have  hurried  up  from  breakfast  to  finish  it.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  S. 
spent  most  of  last  evening  with  us.  They  shouted  over  my 
ferrotypes.  Mr. also  called  and  expressed  as  much  sur- 
prise at  your  having  gone  to  Europe  as  if  the  sky  had  fallen. 
I  read  my  sea-journal  to  the  children  last  evening,  and  though 
it  is  very  flat  and  meagre  in  itself,  H.,  to  whom  it  was  all  brand 
new,  thought  it  ought  to  be  published  forthwith.  No  time  for 
another  word  but  love  to  all  the  S.'s,  big  and  little,  high  and 
low,  great  and  small.     Your  affectionate  Mammy. 

Oct.  2W1. — I  can  hardly  believe  that  it  is  only  a  week  to- 
day that  we  saw  you  and  your  big  steamer  disappear  from 
view.  H.  said  last  night  that  it  seemed  to  him  one  hundred 
years  ago,  and  we  all  said  amen.  So  how  do  you  suppose  it 
will  seem  ten  months  hence?  I  hope  you  do  not  find  the  time 
so  long.  I  take  turns  waiting  upon  the  children  to  school, 
which  they  are  very  strict  about,  and  they  enjoy  their  teachers 
amazingly. 

I  received  this  morning  a  very  beautiful  and  touching  let- 
ter from  a  young  lady  in  England  about  the  Susy  books.  Thoy 
are  associated  in  her  mind  and  those  of  her  family  with  a 
*•  Little  Pearlie  "  whose  cunning  little  photograph  she  enclosed, 
who  taught  herself  to  read  in  a  fortnight  from  one  of  them, 
and  w^as  read  to  from  it  on  her  dying  bed,  and  after  she  be- 
came speechless  she  made  signs  to  have  her  head  wet  as  Susy's 
was.  I  never  received  such  a  letter  among  all  I  have  had. 
Randolph  sent  me  twelve  copies  of  Stepping  Heavenward,  and 
I  have  had  my  hands  full  packing  and  sending  them.  M.  is 
reading  aloud  to  H.  a  charming  story  called  "Alone  in  Lon- 
don."    I  am  sure  I  could  not  xkvm\  it  aloud  without  cryinLC- 


324  THE    LIFE   OF    MRS.    PRENTISS. 

The  following  is  the  letter  from  England: 

To  THE  Author  of  "  Little  Susy  ": 

I  feel  as  if  I  had  a  perfect  right  to  call  you  "  My  dear  friei.d,"  so  muck 
have  I  thought  of  you  this  last  year  and  a  half.  Bear  with  me  while  1  tell 
you  why.  A  year  ago  last  Christmas  we  were  a  large  family — father, 
mother,  and  eight  children,  of  whom  I,  who  address  you,  am  the  eldest. 
The  youngest  was  of  course  the  pet,  our  bright  little  darling,  rather  more 
than  five.  That  Christmas  morning,  of  course,  there  were  gifts  for  all ;  and 
among  the  treasures  in  the  smallest  stocking  was  a  copy  of  "  Little  Susy's 
Six  Teachers,"  for  which  I  desire  to  thank  you  now.  Many  times  I  have 
tried  to  do  so,  but  I  could  not ;  the  trouble  which  came  upon  us  was  too 
great  and  awful  in  its  suddenness.  Little  Pearl,  so  first  called  in  the  days 
f  a  fragile  babyhood — Dora  Margaret  was  her  real  name — taught  herself 
o  read  from  her  "  Little  Susy,"  during  the  first  fortnight  she  had  it.  And 
she  would  sit  for  hours,  literally,  amusing  and  interesting  herself  by  it.  She 
talked  constantly  of  the  Six  Teachers,  and  a  word  about  them  was  enough 
to  quell  any  rising  naughtiness.  "  Pearlie,  what  would  Mr.  Ought  say  ?  "  or 
"  Don't  grieve  Mrs.  Love,"  was  always  sufficient.  Do  you  know  what  it  is 
to  have  one  the  youngest  in  a  large  family?  My  darling  was  seventeen 
years  younger  than  I.  I  left  school  when  she  was  born  to  take  the  over- 
sight of  the  nursery,  which  dear  mamma's  illness  and  always  delicate  health 
prevented  her  from  doing.  I  had  nursed  her  in  her  illnesses,  dressed  her, 
made  the  little  frocks — now  laid  so  sadly  by — and  to  all  the  rest  of  us  she 
nad  been  more  like  a  child  than  a  sister.  Friends  used  to  say,  "  It  is  a 
wonder  that  child  is  not  spoiled  ";  but  they  could  never  say  she  was. 
Merry,  full  of  life  and  fun  she  always  was,  quick  and  intelligent,  full  of  droll 
sayings  which  recur  to  us  now  with  such  a  pain.  From  Christmas  to  the 
end  of  February  we  often  remarked  to  one  another  how  good  that  child 
was  !  laughing  and  playing  from  morning  to  night,  yet  never  unruly  or 
wild.  That  February  we  had  illness  in  the  house.  Jessie,  the  next  young- 
est, had  diphtheria,  but  she  recovered,  and  we  trusted  all  danger  was 
passed,  when  one  Monday  evening — the  last  in  the  month — our  darling 
seemed  ill.  The  next  day  we  recognised  the  sjmptoms  we  had  seen  in 
Jessie,  and  the  doctor  was  called  in.  Tuesday  and  Wednesday  he  came 
and  gave  no  hint  of  danger,  but  on  Wednesday  night  we  perceived  a 
change  and  on  Thursday  came  the  sentence:  No  hope.  Oh  friend,  dear 
friend  !  how  can  I  tell  you  of  the  long  hours  when  we  could  not  help  our 
darling— of  the  dark  night  when,  forbidden  the  room  from  the  malignity  of 
the  case,  we  went  to  bed  to  coax  mamma  to  do  so— of  the  grey  February 
dawn  when  there  came  the  words,  "  Our  darling  is  qinii!  well  now  " — quite 
well,  forever  taken  from  the  evil  to  come. 

The  Sunday  night  before,  she  came  into  the  parlor  with  "Susy"  undei 
her  arm   and  petitioned  foi    some  one  to   read  the  "  Teachers'  meeting  ' 


IN  iii:r  iio.Mi:. 


32s 


"Why,  you  read  it  twice  this  afternoon,"  said  one.  "  Yes,  I  know — but  it's 
so  nice,"  was  the  reply.  "  Pearlie  will  be  six  in  September,"  said  the  gen- 
tle mother;  "we  must  have  a  Teachers'  meeting  lor  her,  I  think."  "  But 
perhaps  I  sha'n't  ever  be  six,"  said  the  little  one.  "Oh  Pearlie,  why  do  you 
say  so  }  "  "  Well,  people  don't  all  be  six,  you  knt)w,"  affirmed  our  darlinj^ 
with  solemn  eyes  and  two  dimples  in  the  rosy  cheeks,  that  were  hid  forcvii 
from  us  before  the  next  Sabbath  day. 

On  the  Wednesday  we  borrowed  from  a  little  friend  the  other  books  o( 
thi^  3eries,  thinking  they  might  aftbrd  some  amusement  for  the  weary  hours 
of  illness,  and  Annie,  my  next  sister,  read  four  of  the  birthdays  to  her  and  then 
wished  to  stop,  fearing  she  might  be  too  fatigued.  "  No,  read  one  more," 
was  the  request,  and  "  That  will  do — I'm  five,  read  the  last  to-morrow,"  she 
said,  when  it  was  complied  with.  Ah  me  !  with  how  many  tears  we  took 
up  that  book  again.  That  Wednesday  she  sat  up  in  bed,  a  glass  of  medi- 
cine in  her  hand.  "Mamma,"  she  said,  "  Miss  Joy  has  gone  quite  away 
and  only  left  Mr.  Pain.  She  can't  come  back  till  my  throat  is  well."  "  But 
Mrs.  Love  is  here,  is  she  not  ?  "  "  Oh,  yes,"  and  the  dear  heavy  eyes  turned 
from  one  to  another.  In  the  night,  when  she  lay  dying,  came  intervals  of 
consciousness ;  in  one  of  these  she  took  her  handkerchief  and  gave  it  to 
papa,  who  watched  by  her,  asking  him  to  wet  it  and  put  it  on  her  head. 
When  he  told  us,  we  recollected  the  incident  when  Susy  in  the  favorite  book 
was  ill.  And  can  you  undtsrstand  how  our  hearts  felt  very  tender  toward 
you  and  we  said  you  must  be  thanked.  I  should  weary  you  if  I  told  you 
all  the  incidents  that  presented  themselves  of  how  sweet  and  good  she  was 
in  her  illness ;  how  in  the  agony  of  those  last  hours,  when  no  fear  of  infec- 
tion could  restrain  the  passionate  kisses  papa  was  showering  on  her,  tlie 
dear  voice  said  with  a  slop  and  an  effort  between  each  word,  "  Don't  kiss 
me  on  my  mouth,  papa;  you  may  catch  it  ";  how  everything  she  asked  for 
was  prefaced  by  "  please,"  how  self  was  always  last  in  her  thoughts.  "  I'm 
keeping  you  awake,  you  darling."  "  Don't  stand  there — you'll  be  so  tired — 
sit  down  or  go  down-stairs,  if  you  like." 

I  will  send  you  a  photograph  of  little  Pearlie  ;  it  is  the  best  we  have,  but 
was  taken  when  she  was  only  two  years  old.  She  was  very  small  lor  lu-r 
age  and  had  been  very  delicate  until  the  last  year  of  her  life. 

In  writing  thus  to  thank  you  I  am  not  only  doing  an  act  of  justice  to 
yourself,  but  fulfilling  wishes  no'v  rendered  binding.  Often  atul  often  my 
dear  mamma  said,  "  How  I  wish  vve  knew  the  lady  who  wrote  Little  Susy  :  " 
Her  health,  alwaj^s  delicate,  never  recovered  from  the  shock  of  Pearlii's 
death,  and  suddenly,  on  tlie  morning  of  the  first  of  May,  the  Angel  ol 
Death  darkened  our  dwelling  with  the  shadow  of  his  wings.  Not  long  did 
he  linger -only  two  hours— and  our  mother  had  left  us.  She  was  witli  her 
treasure  and  the  Saviour,  who  said  so  lovingly  on  earth,  "  Come  unto  Mc" 

But  words  can  not  express  such  trouble  as  that.  We  have  not  realised 
it  yet.     Forgive  me  if  my  letter  is  abrupt  and  confused.     I  have  only  de- 


326  THE   LIFE    OF    MRS.  PRENTISS. 

sired  to  tell  you  simply  the  simple  tale — if  by  any  chance  it  should  ni.ik« 
you  thank  God  more  earnestly  for  the  great  gift  He  has  given  you— a  hol> 
^ift  indeed  ;  for  can  you  think  the  lessons  from  "  Susy,"  so  useful  and  so 
loved  on  earth,  could  be  suddenly  forgotten  when  the  glories  of  heaven 
opened  on  our  darling's  view  ?  I  can  not  myself.  I  think,  perhaps,  our 
Father's  home  may  be  more  like  our  human  ones,  where  His  love  reigns, 
than  our  v/ild  hearts  allow  themselves  to  imagine ;  and  I  think  the  two,  on 
whose  behalf  1  thank  you  now,  may  one  day  know  you  and  thank  you 
themselves. 

Dear  "  Aunt  Susan,"  believe  me  to  be,  your  unknown  yet  grateful  friend, 

Lizzie  Wraith  L . 

Mrs.   Prentiss  at   once  answered  this  letter,  and  not  long 

after  received  another  from  Miss  L ,  dated  January  9,  1870, 

breathing  the  same  grateful  feeling  and  full  of  interesting  de- 
tails.    The  following  is  an  extract  from  it : 

I  was  so  surprised,  dear  unknown  friend,  to  receive  your  kind' letter  so 
soon.  Indeed,  I  hardly  expected  a  reply  at  all.  When  I  wrote  to  you,  I 
did  not  know  that  I  was  addressing  a  daughter  of  the  "  Edward  Payson  " 
whose  name  is  fragrant  even  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic.  Had  I  known  it 
I  think  I  should  not  have  ventured  to  write^-so  I  am  glad  I  did  not.  II 
you  should  be  able  to  wTite  again,  and  have  a  carte-de-visite  to  spare,  may 
I  beg  it,  that  I  may  form  some  idea  of  the  friend,  "  old  enough  to  be  my 
mother "  ?  Are  you  little  and  slight,  hke  my  real  mother,  I  wonder,  or 
stately  and  tall }  I  will  send  you  a  photograph  of  the  monument  which 
the  ladies  of  papa's  church  and  congregation  have  erected  to  dear  mamma, 
in  our  beautiful  cemetery,  where  the  snowdrops  will  be  already  peeping,  and 
where  roses  bloom  for  ten  months  out  of  the  twelve. 

JVov.  3^/. — Here  beginneth  letter  No.  3.  We  heard  of  your 
arrival  at  Southampton  by  a  telegram  last  evening.  We  long 
to  get  a  letter.  Before  I  forget  it  let  me  tell  you  that  Alice  H. 
and  Julia  W.  have  both  got  babbies.  We  are  getting  nicely 
settled  for  the  winter  ;  the  children  are  all  behaving  beautifully. 

Saturday^  6th. — Well,  I  have  just  been  to  see  Mrs.  F.,  and 
found  her  a  bright,  frank  young  thing,  fresh  and  simple  and 

very  pleasing.     Her  complexion  is  like  M 's,  and  the  lower 

part  of  her  face  is  shaped  like  hers,  dark  eyebrows,  light  hair, 
sj^lendid  teeth,  and  I  suppose  would  be  called  very  pretty  by 
you  girls.  Take  her  altogether  I  liked  her  very  much.  We 
hear  next  to  nothing  from  Stepping  Heavenward,  and  begin  tc 
think  it  is  going  to  fall  dead. 


IN    m-.K    HOME. 


327 


MofidaVy  14///. — Your  Southami>ton  letter  has  just  come  and 
wc  are  delighted  to  hear  that  you  had  such  a  pleasaat  voyage 

and  found  so  many  agreeable  people  on  board Yesterday 

afternoon  was  devoted  to  hearing  a  deeply  interesting  descrip- 
tion from  Dr.  Hatfield,  followed  by  Mr.  Dodge,  of  the  re-union 
of  the  two  Assemblies  at  Pittsburgh.  Dr.  H.  made  us  all  laugli 
by  saying  that  as  the  New  School  entered  the  church  where 
they  were  to  be  received  and  united  to  the  Old  School,  tiie 
latter  rose  and  sang  "Return,  ye  ransomed  sinners,  home!" 
Oh,  I  don't  know  but  it  was  just  the  other  way  ;  it  makes  no 
great  difference,  for  as  Dr.  H.  remarked,  *' we're  all  ransomed 
sinners." 

Nov.  2,0th. — Mr.  Abbot  dined  here  on  Sunday.  He  came  in 
again  in  the  evening,  and  it  would  have  done  you  good  to 
hear  what  he  said  about  the  children.  They  are  all  well  and 
happy,  and  give  me  very  little  trouble.  I  do  not  feel  so  well 
on   the  late  dinner,  and  have  awful   dreams. — I   was   passing 

the  C s,  after  writing  the  above,  and  she  called  me  in   t(» 

see  her  new  parlors.  They  are  beautiful ;  a  great  deal  of 
bright,  rich  coloring,  and  various  articles  of  furniture  of  his 
own  designing.  Thursday. — You  and  M.  will  be  shocked  to 
hear  that  Julia  W.  died  last  night.  As  Mr.  W.  was  at  church 
on  Sunday,  we  supposed  all  danger  was  over.  We  heard  it 
through  a  telegram  sent  to  your  father. 

December  4,  1869. — I  need  not  tell  you  that  we  all  remembci 
that  this  is  your  birthday,  dear  child,  and  that  the  remem- 
brance brings  you  very  near.  I  wish  I  could  send  you,  for  a 
birthday  present,  all  that  I  have,  this  morning,  asked  God  to 
give  you.  You  may  depend  upon  it,  that  while  some  people 
may  get  along  through  life  at  a  certain  distance  from  Him, 
you  are  not  one  of  that  sort.  You  may  lind  a  feverish  joy,  but 
never  abiding  peacc^  out  of  Him.  Remember  this  whenever 
you  feel  the  oppression  of  that  vague  sense  of  unrest,  of  which, 
I  doubt  not,  you  have  a  great  deal  underneath  a  careless  out- 
side; this  is  the  thirst  of  the  soul  for  the  only  fountain  at 
which  it  is  worth  while  to  drink.  You  never  will  be  really 
happy  till  Christ  becomes  your  dearest  and  most  intimate 
friend.  7///. — We  have  had  a  tremendous  fall  of  snow,  and 
Culyer  says  M.  ought  to  wait  an  hour  before  starting  for 
school,  but  she  is  not  willing  and  I  am  going  with   her  to  see 


328  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

that  she  is  not  buried  alive.  Good-bye  again,  dearie  !  Will 
begin  a  new  letter  right  away. 

Dec.  ()th. — We  went  to  see  Mrs.  W.  this  afternoon.  Julia 
had  typhoid  fever,  which  ran  twenty-one  days,  and  was  de- 
lirious a  good  deal  of  the  time.  She  got  ready  to  die  before 
her  confinement,  though  she  said  she  expected  to  live.  After 
she  became  so  very  ill  Mrs.  W.  heard  her  praying  for  something 
"  for  Christ's  sake,"  "  for  the  sake  of  Christ's  sufferings,''  and 
once  asked  her  what  it  was  she  was  asking  for  so  earnestly. 
"Oh,  to  get  well  for  Edward's  sake  and  the  baby's,"  she 
replied.  A  few  days  before  her  death  she  called  Mrs.  W.  to 
"come  close"  to  her,  and  said,  "  I  am  going  to  die.  I  did  not 
think  so  when  baby  was  born,  dear  little  thing — but  now  it  is 
impressed  upon  me  that  I  am."  Mrs.  W.  said  they  hoped  not, 
but  added,  "  Yet  suppose  you  should  die,  what  then  ?  "  "  Oh  I 
have  prayed,  day  and  night,  to  be  reconciled,  and  I  'a.vs\, perfectly 
so.     God  will  take  care  of  Edward  and  of  my  baby.     Perhaps 

it  is  better  so  than  to  run  the  risk "     She  did  not  finish  the 

sentence.  The  baby  looks  like  her.  Mrs.  W.  told  her  you  had 
gone  to  Europe  with  M.,  and  she  expressed  great  pleasure  : 
but  if  she  had  known  where  she  was  going,  and  to  what,  all  she 
would  have  done  would  have  been  to  give  thanks  "  for  Christ's 
sake."  I  do  not  blame  her,  how^ever,  for  clinging  to  life  ;  it 
was  natural  she  should. 

\oth. — We  went,  last  evening,  to  hear  Father  Hyacinthe 
lecture  on  "  Charite "  at  the  Academy  of  Music.  I  did  not 
expect  to  understand  a  word,  but  was  agreeably  disappointed, 
as  he  spoke  very  distinctly.  Still  I  did  not  enjoy  hearing  as 
well  as  I  did  reading  it  this  morning — for  I  lost  some  of  the 
best  things  in  a  really  fine  address.  It  was  a  brilliant  scene, 
the  very  elite  of  intellectual  society  gathered  around  one 
modest,  unpretentious  little  man.  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Crosby  were 
in  the  box  with  us,  and  she,  fortunately,  had  an  opera  glass 
with  her,  so  that  we  had  a  chance  to  study  his  really  good  face. 
The  only  book  I  expect  to  write  this  winter  is  to  you  ;  I  am 
dreadfully  lazy  since  you  left,  and  don't  do  anything  but  haze 
about.  There  is  a  good  deal  of  lively  talk  at  the  table;  the 
children  are  waked  up  by  going  to  school,  and  there  is  some 
rivalry  among  them,  each  maintaining  that  his  and  hers  is  the 
best. 


IX  iii:r  I  If)  Ml'. 


329 


Dec.  15///. — We  have  cards  for  a  "  Soiree  musicale  "  at  Mrs. 

's,  wliich  is  to  be  a  great  smash-up.    She  called  here  to-day 

and  wept  and  wailed  over  and  kissed  me.  I  have  been  to  sec 
how  ]Mrs.  C.  is.  She  is  a  little  worse  to-day,  and  he  and  lier 
father  scarcely  leave  her.  He  wrung  my  hand  all  to  pieces, 
poor  man.  Her  illness  is  exciting  great  sympathy  in  our 
church,  and  nobody  seems  willing  to  let  her  go.  Dr.  Adams 
spent  last  evening  here.  He  is  splendid  company;  I  really 
wish  he  would  come  once  a  week.  Everybody  is  asking  if  I 
meant  in  Katy  to  describe  myself.  I  have  no  doubt  that  if  I 
should  catch  an  old  toad,  put  on  to  her  a  short  gown  and 
petticoat  and  one  of  my  caps,  everybody  would  walk  up  to  her 
and  say,  "  Oh,  how  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Prentiss,  you  look  more 
like  yourself  than  common  ;  I  recognise  the  picture  you  have 
drawn  of  yourself  in  Stepping  Heavenward  and  in  the  Percys," 
etc.,  etc.,  etc.,  ad  nauseam.  The  next  book  I  write  I'll  make  my 
heroine  black  and  everybody  will  say,  "Oh,  here  you  are  again, 
black  to  the  life  !  " 

Dec.  \Ztii. — You  and  M.  will  not  be  surprised  to  hear  thai 
Mrs.  C.'s  sufferings  are  over.  She  died  this  morning.  Papa 
and  I  are  greatly  shaken.  With  much  hesitation  I  decided  to 
go  over  there  to  see  her  mother,  and  the  welcome  I  got  from 
her  and  from  Mr.  C.  are  things  to  remember  for  a  life-time.  I 
will  never  hesitate  again  to  fly  to  people  in  trouble.  If  you 
were  here  I  would  tell  you  all  about  my  visit,  but  I  can't  write 
it  down.  It  seems  so  sad,  just  as  they  had  got  into  their  lovely 
new  home — sad  for  ///;;/,  I  mean  ;  as  for  her  I  can  only  wish  her 
joy  that  she  is  not  weeping  here  below  as  he  is.  I  stayed  till  it 
was  time  for  church,  and  when  I  entered  it  I  was  met  by  many 
a  tearful  face  ;  papa  announced  her  death  from  the  pulpit,  and 
is  going,  this  afternoon,  to  throw  aside  the  sermon  he  inicndcvl 
to  preach,  and  extemporise  on  "the  first  Sunday  in  heaven." 
The  children  are  going  in,  this  noon,  to  sing  ;  as  to  the  Mission 
festival,  th£it  is  to  be  virtually  given  up  ;  the  children  are  mere- 
ly to  walk  in,  receive  their  presents,  and  go  silently  out.  It  is 
a  beautiful  day  to  go  to  heaven  in.  Mrs.  C.  did  not  know  she 
was  going  to  die,  but  that  is  of  no  consequence.  Only  one 
week  ago  yesterday  she  was  at  the  Industrial  school,  unusual- 
ly bright  and  well,  thev  all  say.  Well,  I  see  everything  double 
and  had  better  stop  writing. 


330  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

Monday^  20th. — Your  nice  letter  was  in  the  letter-box  as  j 
started  for  school  with  H.  ;  I  called  to  papa  to  let  him  know  it 
was  there  and  went  off,  begrudging  him  the  pleasure  of  read- 
ing it  before  I  did.  When  I  got  home  there  was*no  papa  and 
no  letter  to  be  found  ;  I  looked  in  every  room,  on  his  desk  and 
on  mine,  posted  down  to  the  letter-box  and  into  the  parlor,  in 
vain.  At  last  he  came  rushing  home  with  it,  having  carried  it 
to  market,  lest  I  should  get  and   read   it  alone  !     So  we  sat 

down  and  enjoyed  it  together I  take  out  your  picture 

now  and  then,  when,  lo,  a  big  lump  in  my  throat,  notwithstand- 
ing which  I  am  glad  we  let  you  go  ;  we  enjoy  your  enjoyment, 
and  think  it  will  make  the  old  nest  pleasanter  to  have  been  va- 
cated for  a  while.  Papa  and  I  agreed  before  we  got  up  this 
morning  that  the  only  fault  we  had  to  find  with  God  was,  that 
He  was  too  good  to  us.  I  can't  get  over  the  welcome  I  got  from 
Mr.  C.  yesterday.  He  said  I  seemed  like  a  mother  to  him 
which  made  me  feel  very  old  on  the  one  hand,  and  very  happy 
on  the  other.  If  I  were  you  I  wouldn't  marry  anybody  but  a 
minister ;  it  gives  one  such  lots  of  people  to  love  and  care  for. 
Old  Mrs.  B.  is  failing,  and  lies  there  as  peaceful  and  contented 
as  a  little  baby.  I  never  got  sweeter  smiles  from  anybody.  I 
have  got  each  of  the  servants  a  pretty  dress  for  Christmas  ;  1 
feel  that  I  owe  them  a  good  deal  for  giving  me  such  a  peaceful^ 
untroubled  home. 

Dec.  23^/. — It  rained  very  hard  all  day  yesterday  till  just 
about  the  time  of  the  funeral,  half-past  three,  when  the  church 
was  well  filled,  the  Mission-school  occupying  seats  by  them- 
selves and  the  teachers  by  themselves I  thought  as  I 

listened  to  the  address  that  it  would  reconcile  me  to  seeing  you 
lying  there  in  your  coffin,  if  such  a  record  stood  against  your 
name.  Papa  read,  at  the  close,  a  sort  of  prophetic  poem  of 
Mrs.  C.'s,  which  she  wrote  a  year  or  more  ago,  of  which  I  should 
like  to  send  you  all  a  copy,  it  is  so  good  in  every  sense.  He 
wants  me  to  send  you  a  few  hasty  lines  I  scribbled  off  on  Sun- 
day noon,  with  which  he  closed  his  sermon  that  afternoon,  and 
repeated  again  at  the  funeral,  but  it  is  not  worth  the  ink.  After 
the  service  the  mission  children  went  up  to  look  at  the  remains, 
and  passed  out ;  then  the  rest  of  the  congregation.  One  of  the 
mission  children  fainted  and  fell,  and  was  carried  out  in  Mr. 
L,'s  arms.    After  the  rest  dispersed  papa  took  me  in,  and  there 


IN   HER   HOME.  331 

we  saw  a  most  touching  sight  ;  a  dozen  poor  women  and  civil 
dren  weeping  about  the  cotlln,  offering  a  tribute  to  her  memory 

sweeter  than  the  opulent  display  of  flowers  did.    Evcniii::;. The 

interment  took  place  to-day,  at  Woodlawn.  Mr.  C.  wished  me 
to  go,  and  I  did.  On  the  way  home  a  gentlemanl\-  -looking  man 
stepped  up  to  your  father,  and  taking  his  hand  said,  "I  never 
saw  you  till  to-da}^,  but  I  loz'e  you;  yes,  there  is  no  other 
word  !  "     Wasn't  it  nice  of  him  ? 

Dec.  24//). — Papa  went  in  last  evening,  for  a  half  hour,  to  see 

and  his  bride,  at  their  great  reception,  drank  two  glasses 

of  "  coffee  sangaree,"  and  brought  me  news  that  overcame  me 

quite,— namely,  that was  delighted  with  my  book.    Nesbit 

&  Co.  sent  me  a  copy  of  their  reprint  of  it.  They  have  got  it 
up  beautifully  with  six  colored  illustrations,  most  of  them  very 
good  ;  little  Ernest  is  as  cunning  as  he  can  be,  and  the  old 
grandpa  is  perfect.  Katy,  however,  has  her  hair  in  a  waterfall 
in  the  year  1835  and  even  after,  wears  long  dresses,  and  alwavs 
has  on  a.  son  tag  or  something  like  one.  She  goes  to  see -Dr. 
Cabot  in  a  red  sacque,  and  a  red  hat,  and  has  a  muff  in  her  lap. 

Mrs. was  here  the  other  day  to  say  that  I   had  drawn  her 

husband's  portrait  exactly  in  Dr.  Elliot.  I  have  been  out  with 
M.  all  the  morning,  doing  up  our  last  shopj)in<^^  We  Ccune 
home  half  frozen,  and  had  lunch  together,  when  k),  a  magnili- 
cent  basket  of  flowers  from  Mrs.  D.  and  some  candy  from  the 
party  ;  papa  and  G.  came  home  and  we  all  fell  to  making  oui 

selves  sick I  have  bought  lots  of  candy  and  little  fancy 

cakes  to  put  in  the  children's  stockings.  I  know  it  is  verv 
improper,  but  one  can't  be  good  always.  Dr.  P.  is  sick  willi 
pneumonia.  Mrs.  P.  has  just  sent  me  a  basket  of  fresh  eggs,  and 
an  illustrated  edition  of  Longfellow's  "Building  of  the  Shij)." 

25///. — I  wish  you  a  Merry  Christmas,  darling,  and  wonder 
what  you  are  all  doing  to  celebrate  this  day.  We  have  had 
great  times  over  our  presents I  got  a  note  from  Mr.  Ab- 
bot saying  that  a  friend  of  his  in  Boston  had  given  away  fom-- 
decn  Katies,  all  he  could  get,  and  that  the  bookseller  said  he 
could  have  sold  the  last  copy  thirty  times  over.  Neitlier  pnjia 
nor  I  feel  quite  up  to  the  mark  to-day  ;  we  probably  got  a  lit- 
tle cold  at  Mrs.  C.'s  grave,  as  the  wind  blew  furiously,  and  the 
hymn,  and  prayer,  and  benediction  took  quite  a  time. 

26///. — Dr.    P.    is  worse.     Papa   has   been    to   see   him   since 


332  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    I'Rh.NTISS. 

church,  and  Dr.  B.,  who  was  there,  said  that  Dr.  Murray  quoteo 
from  Katy  in  his  sermon  to-day,  and  then  pausing  long  enougli 
to  attract  everybody's  attention,  he  said  he  wished  each  ol 
them  to  procure  and  read  it.  I  hope  you  and  Mrs.  Smith  won't 
get  sick  hearing  about  it  ;  I  assure  you  I  don't  tell  you  half  I 
-night.  Evening. — Mr.  C.  has  been  here  this  evening  to  show 
us  a  pjem  by  his  wife,  just  come  out  in  the  January  number  of 
the  Sabbath  at  Home,  in  which  she  asks  the  New  Year  what  it 
has  in  store  for  her,  and  says  if  it  is  death,  it  is  only  going  home 
the  sooner.  Neither  he,  or  anyone,  had  seen  it  or  heard  of  it, 
and  it  came  to  them  with  overwhelming  power  and  consolation 
as  the  last  utterance  of  her  Christian  faith.' 

Dec.  30//^,  1869. — Your  letter  came  yesterday  morning,  after 
breakfast,  and  was  read  to  an  admiring  audience  of  Prentisses 
by  papa,  who  occasionally  called  for  counsel  as  to  this  word 
and  that.  We  like  the  plan  made  for  the  winter,  and  hope  it 
will  suit  all  round.  You  had  such  a  grand  birth-day  that  I 
don't  see  what  there  was  left  for  Christmas,  and  hope  you  got 
nothing  but  a  leather  button.  My  Percys  end  to-day,  and  I  am 
shocked  at  the  wretched  way  in  which  I  ended  them.  I  wish 
you  would  buy  a  copy  of  Griseldis  for  me.  Why  don't  you 
tell  what  you  are  reading?  I  got  for  M.  "A  Sister's  Bye 
Hours,"  by  Jean  Ingelow,  and  find  it  a  delightful  book  ;  such 
lots  of  quiet  humor  and  so  much  good  sense  and  good  feeling 
you  girls  would  enjoy  reading  it  aloud  together. 

Jan.  3^/,  1870. — You  will  want  to  hear  all  about  New  Year's 
day,  and  where  shall  I  begin  unless  rt  the  end  thereof,  when 
your  and  Mi\3.  Smith's  letters  came,  and  which  caused  papa 
ungraciously  to  leave  me  to  entertain,  while  he  greedily  de- 
voured them  and  his  dinner.  In  spite  of  rain  we  had  a  steady 
Mow  of  visitors.  I  will  enclose  a  list  for  your  delectation,  for 
as  reading  a  cook-book  sort  of  feeds  one,  reading  familiar  names 
sort  of  comforts  one.  Mr. was  softer  and  more  languish- 
ing than  ever,   and   appeared  like  a  man  who  had  been  fed  on 

honey  off  the  tips  of  a  canary  bird's  feather Papa  and 

I  agreed,  talking  it  over  last  evening,  that  it  is  a  bad  plan  for 
husbands  and  wives  not  to  live  and  die  together,  as  the  one 
who  is  left  is  apt  to  cut  up.     He  hinted  that  I  was  "so  fond  oi 

'  See  the  poem  in  the  appendix  to  Golden  Hours.,  with  the  "  Reply  of  tl"i  New  Year,' 
written  by  Mrs.  Premiss. 


IN    HL:K    llOMK.  o^. 

admiration"  that  lie  was  afraid  I  should,  if  he  died.  On  ques- 
tioning him  as  to  what  he  meant  by  this  abominable  speech,  he 
said  he  meant  to  pay  me  a  compliment  !  !  !  that  he  thought  mc 
very  susceptible  when  people  loved  me  and  very  fond  of  being 
loved — which  I  am  by  him  ;  all  other  men  I  hate.  My  cousin 
G.  dined  with  us  on  Friday  and  took  me  to  the  meeting  held 
annually  at  Dr.  Adams'  church.  I  like  him  ever  so  much, 
though  he  is  a  man.  G.  has  brought  me  in  some  dandcliouL 
from  the  church-yard.  We  have  not  had  one  day  of  seveie 
cold  yet,  and  there  is  a  great  deal  of  sickness  about  in  con- 
sequence. 

Friday. — I  spent  a  part  of  last  evening  in  writing  an 
article  about  Mrs.  C.'s  poem  for  the  Sabbath  at  Home,  and 
have  a  little  fit  of  indigestion  as  my  reward.  Have  been  to 
see  my  sick  woman  with  jelly  and  consolation,  and  from 
there  to  Mrs.  D.,  who  gave  me  a  beautiful  account  of  Mrs. 
Coming's  last  days  and  of  her  readiness  and  gladness  to  go.  I 
was  at  the  meeting  at  Dr.  Rogers'  yesterday  afternoon  and 
heard  old  Dr.  Tyng  for  the  first  time,  and  he  spoke  beautifully. 
....  Well,  Chi  Alpha'  is  over  ;  we  had  a  very  large  attendance 
and  the  oysters  were  burnt.  It  is  dreadfully  trying  when  Maria 
never  once  failed  before  to  have  them  so  extra  nice.  Dr.  Ilall 
came  and  told  me  he  had  been  sending  copies  of  Fred  and 
Maria  and  Mc  to  friends  in  Ireland.  Martha  and  Jane,  and  M. 
and  H.  were  all  standing  in  a  row  together  when  the  parsons 
come  out  to  tea,  and  one  of  them  marched  up  to  the  row,  say- 
ing to  papa.  Are  these  your  children  .>  when  Martha  and  Jane 
made  a  precipitate  retreat  into  the  pantry.  Good-night,  dar- 
ling ;  lots  of  love  to  Mrs.  Smith  and  all  of  them.  Vour  affec- 
tionate "Marm-er." 

nth. — Yours  came  to-day,  and  papa  and  I  had  a  brief  duel 
with  hair-pins  and  pen-knives  as  to  which  should  read  it  aloud 
to  the  other,  and  I  beat.     I  should  have  enjoyed  I'-igenslnn,  1 

am  sure  ;  you  know  I  have  read  it  in  German The  chii 

drcn  all  three  are  lovely,  and  what  with  them  and  papa  and 
other  things  my  cup  is  running  over  tremendously.  I  have 
just  heard  that  a  poor  woman  I  have  been  to  sec  a  few  times 
died  this  morning.  I  always  came  away  from  her  crestfallen 
thinking  I  was  the  biggest  poke  in  a  sick-room  there  ever  waj 

*  A  clerical  circle  of  New  York. 


334  THE    lAVE   OF    MRS.    PRENTISS. 

but  she  sent  me  a  dying  message  that  quite  comforted  me 
She  had  once  lived  in  plenty,  but  was  fearfully  destitute,  and  1 
<^ear  she  and  her  family  suffered  for  want  of  common  neces- 
saries. 

TJmrsday. — I  had  an  early  and  a  long  call  from  one  of  ouj 
church,  who  wanted  to  tell  me,  among  other  things,  that  her 
husband  scolded  her  for  bumping  her  head  in  the  night ;  she 
wept  and  I  condoled  ;  she  went  away  at  last  smiling.  Then  1 
went  to  the  sewing  circle  and  idled  about  till  one  ;  then  I  had 
several  calls.  Then  papa  and  I  went  out  to  make  a  lot  of  calls. 
Then  came  a  note  from  a  sick  lady,  whom  I  shall  go  to  see  in 
spite  of  my  horror  of  strangers.  Papa  got  a  letter  from  Prof. 
Smith  which  gave  us  great  pleasure.  Z.  was  here  yesterday  ;  I 
asked  her  to  stay  to  lunch,  bribing  her  with  a  cup  of  tea,  and 
so  she  stayed  and  we  had  a  real  nice  time  ;  when  she  went 
away  I  told  her  I  was  dead  in  love  with  her. 

Friday  Evening. — The  children  have  all  gone  to  bed  ;  M.  and 
G.  have  been  reading  all  the  evening ;  M.  busy  on  Miss  Alcott's 
"Little  Women,"  and  G.  shaking  his  sides  over  old  numbers  of 
the  Riverside.  Papa  says  our  house  ought  to  have  a  sign  put 
out,  "Souls  cured  here";  because  so  many  people  come  to  tell 
their  troubles.  People  used  to  do  just  so  to  my  mother,  and  1 
suppose  always  do  to  parsons'  wives  if  they'll  let  'em. 

Monday. — Papa  preached  delightfully  yesterday.  Mr.  B. 
took  a  pew  and  Mr.  I  don't  know  who  took  another.  Your 
letter  came  this  morning  and  was  full  of  interesting  things.  1 
hope  Mrs.  S.  will  send  me  her  own  and  Jean  Ingelow's  verses. 
What  fun  to  get  into  a  correspondence  with  her  !  I  have  had 
an  interesting  time  to-day.  Dr.  Skinner  lent  me  some  months 
ago  a  little  book  called  "God's  Furnace";  I  didn't  like  it  at 
first,  but  read  it  through  several  times  and  liked  it  better  and 

better  each  time.     And  to-day  Mrs. brought  the  author  to 

spend  a  few  hours  (she  lives  out  of  town),  and  we  three  black- 
eyed  women  had  a  remarkable  time  together.  There  is  cer- 
tainly such  a  thing  as  a  heaven  below,  only  it  doesn't  last  as  the 
real  heaven  will.  We  had  Mr.  C.  to  tea  last  night ;  after  tea  he 
read  us  three  poems  of  his  wife,  and  papa  was  weak  enough  to 
go  and  read  him  some  verses  of  mine,  which  he  ought  not  to 
have  done  till  I  am  dead  and  gone.  Then  he  played  and  sang 
with  the  children,  and  we  had  prayers    and  I  read   scraps  to 


IN   HER   HOME.  335 

him  and  papa  from  Faber's  "All  for  Jesus     and  Craig's  Me 
moir.     M.  is  lying  on  the  sofa  studying,  papa  is  in  his  study 
the  boys  are  hazing  about;  it  snows  a  little  and  melts  as  it 
falls,  and  so,  with  love  to  all,  both  great  and  small,  I  am  your 
loving  "Elderly  lady  with  grey  puffs.' 

February  Wi^  1S70. — We  are  having  a  tremendous  snow-stcrm 
for  a  wonder.  I  started  out  this  morning  with  G.,  and  when 
we  got  to  the  Fifth  avenue  clock  he  found  he  should  be  late 
unless  he  ran,  and  I  was  glad  to  let  him  go  and  turn  back  to 
meet  M.,  who  had  heavy  books  besides  her  umbrella.  The 
wind  blew  furiously,  my  umbrella  broke  and  flew  off  in  a 
tangent,  and  when  I  got  it,  it  turned  wrong  side  out  and  I 
came  near  ascending  as  in  a  balloon  ;  M.  soon  came  in  sight 

and  I  convoyed  her  safely  to  school.    Mrs. told  a  friend  of 

ours  that   Mr.   and    Mrs.    Prentiss   really  enjoyed  Mrs.   C 's 

death,  and  they  seemed  destitute  of  natural  affection;  and  that 
as  for  Mrs.  P.  it  was  plain  she  had  never  suffered  in  any  way 
Considering  the   tears  we  both  shed  over  Mrs.  C,  and   some 

other   little   items  in  our  past  history,  we  must  set  Mrs.  

down  as  wiser  than  the  ancients. 

Sunday  ^zwz/z/i^.— Yesterday  Lizzy  B.  came  to  say  that  her 
mother  was  "in  a  gully"  and  wanted  me  to  come  and  pull  her 
out.  I  went  and  found  her  greatly  depressed,  and  felt  sure  it 
was  all  physical,  and  not  a  case  for  special  spiritual  pulling. 
So  I  coaxed  her,  laughed  at  her,  and  cheered  her  aH  I  could. 
She  said  she  had  been  "a  solemn  pig"  for  a  week,  in  allusion 
to  some  pictures  Dr.  P.  had  drawn  for  her  and  for  me  illustrat- 
ing the  solemn  pig  and  the  jolly  pig.  Mr.  Randolph  has  sent 
up  a  letter  from  a  man  in  Nice  whose  wife  wants  to  translate 
Katy  into  French.  I  sent  word  they  might  translate  it  into 
Hottentot  for  all  me.  Good-night,  my  dear,  I  am  sound  asleep. 
Your  affectionate  Mother  PKENTif..s. 

Tuesday. — On  Sunday  papa  preached  a  sern'on  in  behalf  of 
the  Mission,  asking  for  $35,000  to  build  a  chapel,  for  which  Mr 
Cady  had  made  a  plan.  I  got  greatly  stirred  up,  as  I  hope  cv- 
erybody  did.  Mr.  Dodge  will  give  one-cjuarler  of  the  sum 
needed.  It  is  Washington's  birthday,  and  tin;  children  arc  all 
at  home  from  school,  and  are  at  the  dining-room  table  drawing 


336  THE    l.TFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

maps.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  G.  called,  but  I  was  out  seeing  a  pooi 
woman,  whose  romance  of  love  and  sorrow  I  should  like  to  tell 
you  about  if  it  would  not  fill  a  book.  She  says  Bishop  S.  has 
supported  her  and  her  three  children  for  seven  months  out  cf 
his  own  pocket. 

Saturday^  Feb.  26th. — Your  two  last  letters,  together  with 
Mrs.  Smith's,  were  all  in  the  box  as  I  was  starting  with  M.  for 
her  music.  My  children  pulled  in  opposite  directions,  but  I 
pushed  on,  and  papa  saved  the  letters  to  read  to  me  when  I  got 
back.  He  reads  them  awfully,  and  will  puzzle  over  a  word 
long  enough  for  me  to  have  leisure  to  go  crazy  and  recover  my 
sanit3^  However,  nobody  shall  make  fun  of  him  save  myself  ; 
so  look  out.  The  boys  have  gone  skating  to-day  for  the  third 
time  this  winter,  there  has  been  so  little  cold  weather. 

Sunday  Evening. — I  did  not  mean  to  plague  you  with  Step- 
ping Heavenward  any  more,  but  we  have  had  a  scene  to-day 
which  will  amuse  you  and  Mrs.  Smith.  Just  before  service  be- 
gan, an  aristocratic-looking  lady  seated  in  front  of  Mrs.  B.  be- 
gan to  talk  to  her,  whereupon  Mrs.  B.  turned  round  and  an- 
nounced to  the  congregation  that  I  was  the  subject  of  it  by 
pointing  me  out,  and  then  getting  up  and  bringing 
her  to   our   pew.      Once   there,   she   seized    me   by   the  hand 

and  said,  "  I  am  Mrs. .     I  have  just  read  your  book  and 

been  carried  away  with  it.  I  knew  your  husband  thirty-three 
years  ago,  and  have  come  here  to  see  you  both,"  etc.,  etc.  Find- 
ing she  could  get  nothing  out  of  me,  she  fell  upon  M.,  and 
asked  her  if  I  was  her  sister,  which  M.  declared  I  was  not. 
After  church  I  invited  her  to  step  into  the  parsonage,  and  she 
stepped  in  for  an  hour  and  told  this  story  :  She  had  had  the 
book  lent  her,  and  yesterday,  lunching  at  Mrs.  A.'s,  asked  her 
if  she  had  read  it,  and  finding  she  had  not,  made  her  promise  to 
get  it.  She  then  asked  who  this  E.  Prentiss  was,  and  a  lady 
present  enlightened  her.  "What!  my  sister's  beloved  Miss 
Payson,  and  married  to  George  Prentiss,  my  old  friend  !  !  I'll 
go  there  to  church  to-morrow  and  see  for  myself."     So  it  turns 

out  that  she  was  a  Miss ,  of  Mississippi  ;   that  your  fath-r 

gallanted  her  to  Louisville,  when  she  was  going  there  to   ))e 

married  at  sixteen  years  of  age  ;  that  she  was  living  in  Ricfi- 

mond  at  the  time  I  was  teaching  there,   her  sister  boarding 

n  the  house  with  me.     Such  talking,  such  life  and  enthusiasa) 


TX   TIER   HOME.  337 

you  never  saw  in  a  woman  of  forty-eight  !  Well,"  she  winds 
up  at  last,  "  I've  found  two  treasures,  and  you  needn't  think  I'm 

going  to  let  you  go.     I'll  go  home  and  tell  Mr. all  about 

it."  Papa  and  I  have  called  each  other  ''two  treasures"  ever 
since  she  went  away.  The  whole  scene  worked  him  up  and  did 
him  good,  for  he  always  loves  to  have  his  Southern  fi  lends 
d.'um  him  up  and  talk  to  him  of  your  Uncle  Seargent  and 
Aunt  Anna.  Mr.  is  one  of  our  millionaires,  and  she  mar- 
ried him  a  year  ago  after  thirteen  years  of  widowhood.  She 
says  she  still  has  200  '"negroes,"  who  won't  go  away  and  won't 
work,  and  she  has  them  to  support.  She  talked  very  rationally 
about  the  war,  and  says  not  a  soul  at  the  South  would  have 

slavery  back  if  they  could I  called  at  Mrs.  B.'s  yesterday — 

at  exactly  the  right  moment,  she  said  ;  for  five  surgeons  had  just 
decided  that  the  operation  had  been  a  failure,  and  that  she 
must  die.  Her  husband  looked  as  white  as  this  paper,  and  the 
girls  were  in  great  distress,  but  Mrs.  B.  looked  perfectly 
radiant. 

Saturday,  March  ^t/i. — Yesterday  I  went  to  make  a  ghostly 
call  on  Mrs.  B.,  and  kept  her  and  the  girls  screaming  with 
laughter  for  an  hour,  which  did  me  lots  of  good,  and  I  hope 
did  not  hurt  them.  I  have  written  the  403d  page  of  my  serial 
to-day,  and  hope  it  is  the  last.  It  will  soon  be  time  to  think  of 
the  spring  shopping.  I  don't  know  what  any  of  us  need,  and 
never  notice  what  people  are  wearing  unless  I  notice  by  going 
forth  on  a  tour  of  observation. 

Sunday  Evening. — After  church  this  afternoon  Mr^.  N.  and 
Mrs.  V.  came  in  to  tell  us  about  the  death  of  that  servant  cf 
theirs,  whom  they  nursed  in  their  own  house,  who  has  been 
dying  for  seven  months,  of  cancer.  She  died  a  most  fearless, 
happy  death,  and  I  wish  I  knew  I  should  be  as  patient  in  my 
last  illness  as  they  represent  her  as  being.  Your  letters  to  tiie 
cliildren  came  yesterday  afternoon  to  their  great  delight.  In 
an  evil  moment  I  told  the  boys  that  I  had  seen  it  stated,  in  some 
paper,  that  benzole  v.'ould  make  paper  transparent,  and  aftei- 
wards  evaporate  and  leave  the  paper  uninjured.  They  drov^ 
me  raving  distracted  with  questions  abcftt  it,  so  that  I  had  to 
be  put  in  a  strait-jacket.  The  ingenuity  and  persistence  of 
these  questions,  asked  by  each,  in  separate  inter\-iews,  was  'oe- 
yond  description. 
22 


338  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

Tuesday. — For  once  I  have  been  caught  napping,  and  have 
not  mailed  my  weekly  letter.  But  you  will  be  expecting  some 
irregularity  about  the  time  of  your  flight  to  Berlin.  I  called  at 
Mrs.  M.'s  to-day,  and  ran  on  at  such  a  rate  that  Mrs.  Woolsey 
who  was  there,  gave  me  ten  dollars  for  poor  folks,  and  said  she 
wished  I'd  stay  all  day.  Afterwards  I  went  down  town  to  get 
Stepping  Heavenward  for  Mr.  C,  and  as  he  wanted  me  to  write 
something  in  it,  have  just  written  this  :  "  Mr.  C.  from  Mrs. 
Prentiss,  in  loving  memory  of  one  who  '  did  outrun '  us,  and 
stepped  into  heaven  first."  Mr.  Bates  showed  me  a  half-column 
notice  of  it  in  the  Liberal  Christian,'  of  all  places  !  by  very 
far  the  warmest  and  best  of  all  that  have  appeared.  Papa  is  at 
Dr.  McClintock's  funeral.  I  declare,  if  it  isn't  snowing  again, 
and  the  sun  is  shining !  Now  comes  a  letter  from  Uncle 
Charles,  saying  that  your  Uncle  H.  has  lost  that  splendid  little 
girl  of  his  ;  the  only  girl  he  ever  had,  and  the  child  of  his  heart 
of  hearts.  Mrs.  W.  says  she  never  saw  papa  and  myself  look 
so  well,  but  some  gentleman  told  Mr.  Brace,  who  told  his  wife, 
who  told  me,  that  1  was  killing  myself  with  long  walks.      I  can 

not  answer  your  questions  about  Mr. 's  call.     So  much  is 

all  the  time  going  on  that  one  event  speedily  effaces  the  im- 
pression of  another. 

March  12th. — Julia  Willis  spent  the  evening  here  not  long 
ago,  and  made  me  laugh  well.  She  took  me  on  Friday  to  see 
Fanny  Fern,  who  hugged  and  kissed  me,  and  whom  it  was 
rather  pleasant  to  see  after  nearly,  if  not  quite,  thirty  years' 
separation.  She  says  nobody  but  a  Fayson  could  have  written 
Stepping  Heavenward,  which  is  absurd.  March  17///. — I  went  to 
the  sewing  circle'  and  helped  tuck  a  quilt,  had  a  talk  with  Mrs. 
W.,  got  home  at  a  quarter  of  one  and  ate  two  apples,  and  have 
been  since  then  reading  the  secret  correspondence  of  Madame 
Guyon  and  Fenelon  in  old  French. 

Saturday,  ic)th. — Have  just  seen  M.  to  the  Conservatory  ;  met 
Dr.  Skinner  on  the  way  home,  who  said  he  had  been  reading 
Stepping  Heavenward,  and  he  hoped  he  should  step  all  the 
faster  for  it.     Z.  has  often  invited  us  to  come  to  see  her  new 

1  A  Unitarian  paper,  published  in  New  York. 

5  An  association  of  ladies  for  providing  garments  and  other  needed  articles  in  aid  of 
families  of  Home  and  Foreign  missionaries,  especially  of  those  connected  in  any  wa) 
with  their  own  congregation.     Such  a  circle  is  found  in  most  of  the  American  churches. 


IX  iii:r  home. 


339 


home,  and  as  the  i6th  comes  on  a  Saturday,  we  are  talkinir  g 
little  of  all  going  up  to  lunch  with  her.     Evening:;. — It  has  been 

s  ich  a  nice  warm  day.     I  had  a  pleasant  call  from  Mrs.  Dr. . 

She  asked  me  if  I  did  not  get  the  theology  of  Stei)ping  Heaven- 
ward out  of  my  father's  "Thoughts,"  but  as  I  have  not  read 
them  for  thirty  years,  I  doubt  if  I  did,  and  as  I  am  older  than 
n'y  father  was  when  he  uttered  those  thoughts,  I  have  a  right 
to  a  theology  of  my  own. 

Monday. — Yesterday,  in  the  afternoon,  we  had  the  Sunday- 
school  anniversary,  which  went  off  very  well.  Mr.  C.  came  to 
tea  ;  after  it  and  prayers,  we  sat  round  the  table  and  I  read 
scraps  from  Madame  Guyon  and  Fcnelon,  and  we  talked  them 
over.  Papa  was  greatly  pleased  at  the  latter's  saying  he  often 
stopped  in  the  midst  of  his  devotions  to  play. 

Ouand  je  suis  seul,  je  joue  quelquefois  comme  un  petit  enfant,  mrme  en 
faisant  oraison.  II  m'  arrive  quekiuefois  de  sauteret  de  rire  toi4  seul  conime 
un  fou  dans  ma  chainhre.  Avant-hier,  etant  dans  la  sacristie  et  ri'|)on<ianl 
a  una  personne  qui  me  queslionnait,  jioui  ne  la  point  scandaliser  sur  la 
question,  je  m'  embarrassai,  et  je  tis  une  espOce  de  mensongc ;  cela  inc 
donna  quelque  repug^nance  a  dire  la  Messe,  niais  je  ne  laissai  pas  de  la  dire 

I  do  not  advise  you  to  stop  to  play  in  the  midst  of  yt)ur 
prayers,  or  to  tell  "une  espece  de  mensonge  !  "  till  yuu  are  as 
much  of  a  saint  as  he  was.^ 

Saturday,  2Gt/i. — Your  letter  and  Mrs.  Smith's  came  together 
this  afternoon.  It  is  pleasant  to  hear  from  papa's  old  friends 
at  Halle,  and  he  will  be  delighted,  when  he  comes  home  from 
Chi  Alpha,  where  he  is  now.  Lizzy  B.  called  this  afternoon  ; 
she  wanted  to  open  out  her  poor  sick  heart  to  me.  She  qu«jled 
to  me  several  things  she  says  I  wrote  her  a  few  weeks  ago,  but 
I  have  not  the  faintest  recollection  of  writing  them.  Tiiai 
shows  what  a  harum-scarum  life  I  lead. 

March  315-/'.— We  spent  Tuesday  evening  at  the  Skinners. 
We  had  a  charming  visit;  no  one  there  but  Mrs.  Sampson 
and   her  sister,  and  Dr.  S.  wide  awake  and  full  of  enthusiasm. 

We   did  not  get  to  bed  till   midnight.     Mrs. came   this 

morning  and  begged  me  to  lend  her  some  money,  as  she  had 
got  behindhand.     I  let  her  have  five  dollars,  tnough  I  do  not 

1  The  passage  occurs  in  a  letter  to  Madame  Guyon,  dated  June  9,  16S9.     l-"or  anolhef 
extract  from  the  same  letter  see  appendix  F,  p.  537. 


340  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

feel  sure  that  I  shall  see  it  again,  and  she  wept  a  little  weep 
and  went  away.  A  lady  told  cousin  C.  she  had  heard  I  was  sc 
shy  that  once  having  promised  to  go  to  a  lunch  party,  my 
courage  failed  at  the  last  moment,  so  that  I  could  not  go.  I 
shall  expect  to  learn  next  that  my  hair  is  red. 

Monday^  April  4th. — Your  presents  came  Saturday  while  I 
was  out.  We  are  all  delighted  with  them,  but  I  was  most  so, 
for  two  such  darling  little  vases  were  surely  never  before  seen. 
M.  had  Maggie  to  spend  Saturday  afternoon  and  take  tea.  She 
asked  me  if  I  did  not  make  a  distinction  between  talent  and 
genius,  which  papa  thought  very  smart  of  her.  I  read  aloud  to 
them  all  the  evening  one  of  the  German  stories  b)^  Julius  Horn. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  C.  came  in  after  church  and  I  asked  them  to  stay 
to  tea,  which  they  did.  After  it  was  over,  and  we  had  had 
prayers,  we  had  a  little  sing,  Mrs.  C.  playing,  and  among  other 
things,  sang  a  little  hymn  of  mine  which  I  wrote  I  know  not 
when,  but  which  papa  liked  well  enough  to  have  printed.  If 
copies  come  to-day,  as  promised,  I  will  enclose  one  or  two. 
After  the  singing  papa  and  I  took  turns,  as  we  could  snatch  a 
chance  from  each  other,  in  reading  to  them  from  favorite  books, 
which  they  enjoyed  very  much. 

April  <)fli. — We  called  on  Mrs.  H.  M.  Field  yesterday,  and  I 
never  saw  (or  rather  heard)  her  so  brilliant.  In  the  evening  I 
ead  aloud  to  the  children  a  real  live,  wide-awake  Sunday- 
school  book,  called  "  Old  Stories  in  a  New  Dress ";  Bible 
stories,  headed  thus:  "The  Handsome  Rebel,"  "The  Young 
Volunteer,"  "The  Ingenious  Mechanics." 

April  i611l — I  can  not  go  to  bed,  my  dear  chicken,  till  I  have 
told  you  what  a  charming  day  we  have  had.  To  go  back  to  3^es- 
terday,  my  headache  entirely  disappeared  by  the  time  the  Skin- 
ners g('t  here,  and  we  had  a  pleasant  cosy  evening  with  them, 
and  at  the  end  made  Dr.  Skinner  pray  over  us Every- 
thing went  off  nicely.  The  children  enjoyed  the  trip  tremend- 
ously, and  hated  to  come  away.  We  picked  a  lot  of  "filles 
avant  la  mere"  and  they  came  home  in  good  condition.  Mr. 
Woolsey  and  Z.  gave  me  a  little  silver  figure  holding  a  cup, 
on  blue  velvet,  which  is  ever  so  pretty.  We  got  home  at  half  • 
past  six.  Later  in  the  evening  President  Hopkins  called  to 
offer  his  congratulations.  And  now  I  am  tired,  I  can  tell  you. 
It  is  outrageous  for  you  and  the  Smiths  to  be  away  ;   I  don't 


IN    TIER    HOME.  341 

see  how  you  can  have  the  heart.     You  ought  to  come  by  dis- 
patch as  telegrams. 

17//^, — Dr.  Hopkins  preached  a  splendid  sermon'  for  us  this 
morning,  and  came  in  after  it  for  a  call.  He  asked  me  last 
night  if  I  felt  conceited  about  my  book  ;  so  I  said  to  him,  "  I 
like  to  give  people  as  good  as  they  send — don't  you  feel  a  little 
conceited  after  that  sermon  ?  "  on  which  he  gave  me  a  good 
shaking. 

iS//^. — I  have  been  writing  notes  of  thanksgiving,  each  of 
which  dear  papa  reads  through  rose-colored  spectacles  and 
says,  "  You  do  beat  all  !  "  I  have  enjoyed  writing  them,  instead 
of  finding  it  a  bore.  We  shall  be  curious  to  hear  how  you  cele- 
brated our  wedding-day.  Well,  good-bye,  old  child.  I  shall 
begin  another  letter  to-day,  as  like  as  not. 

Monday,  April  2^th. — Friday  morning,  in  the  midst  of  my 
plans  for  helping  Aunt  E.  shop,  came  a  message  from  Mrs.  B. 
that  she  wanted  to  see  me.  I  had  not  expected  to  see  her 
again,  and  of  course  was  glad  to  go.  She  had  altered  so  that 
I  should  not  have  knowm  her,  and  it  was  hard  to  hear  what  she 
had  to  say,  she  is  so  feeble.  She  went  back  to  the  first  time 
she  saw  me,  told  me  what  I  had  on,  and  how  her  heart  was 
knitted  to  me.  She  then  spoke  of  her  approaching  death  : 
said  she  had  no  ecstasies,  no  revelations,  but  had  been  in  per- 
j.ect  peace,  suffering  agonies  of  pain,  yet  not  one  pain  too 
x-nany.  I  asked  her  if  she  had  any  parting  counsel  to  give  me. 
'  No,  not  a  word  ;  I  only  wanted  to  see  your  sunny  face  once 
more,  and  tell  3^ou  what  a  comfort  you  have  been  to  me  in  this 
jickness."  This  all  came  at  intervals,  she  was  so  weak.  She 
afterward  said,  "I  feel  as  if  I  never  was  acquainted  with  Christ 
till  now.  I  tell  my  sons  to  become  intimately  ACQUMMi-n 
with  Him."  I  asked  her  if  she  took  pleasure  in  thinking  of 
meeting  friends  in  heaven.  With  a  sweet,  somewhat  comical 
smile,  she  said,  "  No,  I  haven't  got  so  far  as  that.  I  think  only 
of  meeting  Christ."  "For  all  that,"  I  said,  "you  will  soon  see 
my  father  and  mother  and  other  kindred  souls."  Her  face 
lighted  up  again.  "  Why,  so  I  shall  !  "  Her  lips  were  growing 
uiiite  wnth  pain  while  this  bright  smile  w^is  on  them,  and  I 
came  away,  though  I  should  gladly  have  listened  to  her  by  the 
hour,  everything  was  so  natural,  sound,  and  heavenly.     Shop. 

»  On  the  Resurrcctiun  of  Christ. 


542  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

ping  after  it  did  not  prove  particularly  congenial  ;  but  we  mus 
shop,  as  well  as  die. 

April  2()th. — Your  first  Dresden  letter  has  just  come  ;  yes,  it 
was  long  enough,  though  you  did  not  tell  us  how  the  cat  did. 
You  speak  as  if  you  were  going  to  Paris,  but  papa  is  positive 
you  are  not.  Yesterday  was  a  lovely  day,  though  very  hot.  Dr. 
Adams  came  and  drove  papa  to  the  Park.  Late  in  the  after- 
noon I  went  to  see  Mrs.  G.,  the  woman  whose  husband  is  in 
jail.  She  is  usually  all  in  a  muss,  but  this  time  was  as  nice  as 
could  be,  the  floor  clean  and  everything  in  order.  The  baby,  a 
year  old,  had  learned  to  walk  since  I  was  last  there,  and  came 
and  planted  herself  in  front  of  me,  and  stared  at  me  out  of  two 
great  bright  eyes  most  of  the  time.  I  had  a  nice  visit,  as  Mrs. 
G.  seems  to  be  making  a  good  use  of  her  troubles.  After  I  got 
liom.e.  Dr.  and  Mrs.  C.  arrived  and  we  ha.d  dinner  and  a  tre- 
mendous thunder  shower,  after  which  he  went  out  to  make 
forty-Teven  calls.  He  was  pleased  to  say  that  he  wanted  his 
wife  to  see  the  lovely  family  picture  we  make  !  It  is  a  glum, 
cold,  lowering  morning,  but  the  C.'s  are  going  to  see  the 
Frenches  at  West  Point,  and  Miss  Lyman  at  Vassar. 

Monday. — I  went  to  Miss  C.'s  (the  dressmaker)  again  to-day, 
and  found  her  much  out  of  health,  and  about  reducing  her 
business  and  moving.  One  of  the  old  sisters  had  been  reading 
Stepping  Heavenward,  and  almost  ate  me  up.  I  got  a  pleasant 
word  about  it  last  night,  from  Mrs.  General  Upton,  who  has 
just  died  at  Nassau.  I  have  seen  Mrs.  B.  to-day  ;  she  did  not 
open  her  eyes,  but  besought  me  to  pray  for  her  release.  She 
can't  last  long.  The  boys  are  off  rolling  hoop  again,  and  M. 
Is  out  walking  with  Ida.  Papa  informed  me  last  night  that 
I  had  got  a  very  pretty  bonnet.  The  bonnets  now  consist  of  a 
little  fuss  and  a  good  many  flowers.  Papa  has  gone  to  Dorset, 
and  has  had  a  splendid  day  for  his  journey. 

Thursday,  May  12 fh. — Yesterday  Miss came  to  tell  me 

about  the  killing  of  her  brother  on  the  railroad,  and  to  cry  her 
very  heart  out  on  my  shoulder.  In  the  midst  of  it  came  a  note 
from  Lizzy  B.,  saying  her  mother  had  just  dropped  away.  I 
called  there  early  this  morning.  We  then  went  to  the  Park 
with  your  uncle  and  aunt  ;  after  which  they  left  and  I  rushed 

out  to  get  cap  and  collar  to  wear  at  Mrs. 's  dinner.     I  got 

back   in   time  to  go   to  the   funeral  at  four  p.m.      Dr.  Murray 


TN  HER  HOME.  343 

made  an  excellent,  appreciative  address  ;  papa  tlien  read  ex- 
tracts from  a  paper  of  mine  (things  she  had  said),  the  prayer 
followed,  and  then  her  sons  sang  a  hymn.'  I  came  home  tired 
and  laid  me  down  to  rest  ;  at  half-past  six  it  popped  into  my 
head  that  I  w^as  not  dressed,  and  I  did  it  speedily.    We  supposed 

we  were  only  to  meet  the  Rev.  Dr.  and  Mrs. ,  of  Brooklyn, 

but,  lo  !  a  lot  of  people  in  full  dress.  We  had  a  regular  state 
dinner,  course  after  course.  Dr. sat  next  me  and  made  him- 
self very  agreeable,  except  when  he  said  I  was  the  most  subtle 
satirist  he  ever  met  (I  did  run  him  a  little).  j\Irs. is  a  pict- 
ure. She  had  a  way  of  looking  at  me  through  her  eyeglass  till 
she  put  me  out  of  countenance,  and  then  smiling  in  a  sweet, 
satisfied  manner,  and  laying  down  her  glass.  We  came  home 
as  soon  as  the  gentlemen  left  the  table,  and  got  here  just  as  the 
clock  was  striking  twelve. 

Friday. — We  began  this  day  by  going  at  ten  a.m.  to  the 
funeral  of  Mrs.  W.'s  poor  little  baby,  and  the  first  words  papa 
read,  "It  is  better  to  go  to  the  house  of  mourning  than  to  the 
house  of  feasting,"  etc.,  explained  his  and  my  state  of  mind 
after  last  night's  dissipation.  He  made  a  very  touching  address. 
Later  in  the  day  we  went  out  to  see  Miss ,  as  we  had  prom- 
ised to  do.  We  went  through  the  Park,  lingered  there  a  while, 
and  then  went  on  and  made  a  long  call.  When  we  rose  to 
come  away,  she  said  she  never  let  people  go  away  without 
lunch  and  made  us  go  down  to  the  following:  buns,  three  kinds 
of  cake,  pies,  doughnuts,  cheese,  lemonade,  apples,  oranges, 
pine-apples,  a  soup  tureen  of  strawberries,  a  quart  of  cream, 
two  custard  puddings,  one  hot  and  one  cold,  home-made  wine, 
cold  corned  beef,  cold  roast  beef,  and  for  aught  I  know  40 
other  things.  We  came  away  awfully  tired,  and  papa  com- 
plained of  want  of  appetite  at  dinner  !  !  Good-bye,  dearie.  I 
forgot  to  tell  you  the  boys  have  got  a  dog.     lie  came  of  his 

1  Helen  Rogers  Blakeman,  wife  of  W.  N.  Blakeman,  M.D.,  was  born  on  the  20th  of 
Da  ;ember,  iSii,  in  the  city  of  New  York.  She  was  a  e:rancklaup:hter  of  the  Rev.  James 
Ca'iwell,  of  Elizabethtown,  New  Jersey,  tlie  Revolutionary  patriot.  The  trai^cal  fate 
of  her  g-randmother  has  passed  into  history.  When  the  Britisli  forces  reached  Connect- 
icut Farms,  on  the  7th  of  June,  17S0,  and  beG:an  to  burn  and  ptlla-e  the  place,  l^Irs. 
Caldwell,  who  was  then  living  there,  retired  with  her  two  chiMren— one  an  infant  in  her 
arms— to  a  back  room  in  the  house.  Here,  while  engaged  in  prayer,  she  was  shot  through 
the  window.  Two  bullets  struck  her  in  the  breast  and  she  fell  dead  upon  the  door.  The 
infant  in  her  arms  was  Mrs.  Rial; -man's  mother.  On  the  father's  side,  l.xj,  she  was  ol 
an  old  and  God-ff^aring  family. 


3H  T'HE   TJFE   OF   MRS.  PRENTISS. 

Dwn  accord  and  has  made  them  ver}^  happy.     We  haven't  let 
papa  see  him,  you  may  depend. 

IVed.,  Afay  iSl/i. — Papa  is  packing  his  trunk  for  Philadelphia 
and  I  am  sitting  at  my  new  library  table  to  write  on  my  letter 
[  went  yesterday  to  see  that  lady  who  has  fits.  She  had  one  in 
the  morning  that  lasted  over  an  hour  and  a  half.  She  is  a  very 
bright,  animated  creature  and  does  not  look  older  than  you. 
Thursday. — Papa  got  off  yesterday  at  eleven  for  the  General  As- 
sembly and  I  went  to  Mrs.  D.'s  and  stayed  four  hours.  She 
sent  for  Mr.  S.'s  baby,  who  does  not  creep,  but  walks  in  the  quaint- 
est little  way.  I  shall  write  a  note  to  Mr.  S.,  who  feels  anxious 
at  its  not  creeping,  fearing  its  limbs  will  not  be  strong,  to  tell 
him  that  I  hitched  along  exactly  so. 

Now  let  me  give  you  the  history  of  this  busy  day.  We  got 
up  early  and  Miss  F.  called  with  M.'s  two  dresses.  After 
prayers  and  breakfast  I  wrote  to  papa,  went  to  school  with 
H.,  and  marketed.  Came  home  and  found  a  letter  from  Cin- 
cinnati, urging  for  two  hymns  right  away  for  a  new  hymn-book 
They  had  several  of  mine  already.  I  said,  "  Go  to,  let  us  make 
a  h3^mn  "  (Prof.  Smith  in  his  Review)  and  made  and  sent  them. 

Then  I  wrote  to  Mr.  S.  and  to  Mrs.  Charles  W .'     Then  Mrs. 

C.  came  and  stayed  till  nearly  four,  when  she  left  and  I  went 
down  to  Twenty-second  street  to  call  on  a  lady  at  the  Water 
Cure.  Then  I  went  to  see  Mrs.  C.  (the  wife  of  the  Rev.  Mr. 
C).  I  think  I  told  you  she  had  lost  her  little  Florence.  I 
do  not  remember  ever  seeing  a  person  so  broken  down  by  grief ; 
she  seemed  absolutely  heart-broken.  I  could  not  get  away  till 
five,  and  then  I  took  two  stages  and  got  home  as  soon  as  I  could, 
knowing  the  children  would  be  famishing.  So  now  count  up 
my  various  professions,  chaplain,  marketer,  hymnist,  consoler 
of  Mr.  S.,  Mrs.  W.,  Mrs.  C,  and  let  me  add,  of  Dr.  B.,  who  came 
and  made  a  long  call.  I  am  now  going  to  lie  down  and 
read   till   I  get   rested,  for  my  brain  has  been  on  the  steady 

'  "Your  precious  lamb  was  very  near  my  heart;  few  knew  so  well  as  I  did  all  j  ou 
suffered  for  and  with  her,  for  few  have  been  over  just  the  ground  I  have.  But  that  is 
little  to  the  purpose;  what  I  was  going  to  say  is  this, — 'God  never  makes  a  mistake,' 
Vou  know  and  feel  it,  I  am  sure,  but  when  we  are  broken  down  with  gncf,  we  like  to 
hear  sin\ple  words,  oft  repeated.  On  this  anniversary  of  my  child's  death,  I  feel  drawn 
to  you.  It  was  a  great  blow  to  us  because  it  came  to  hearts  already  sore  with  sorrow  for 
our  boy,  and  because  it  came  so  like  a  thunderclap,  and  because  she  suffered  so.  Youi 
baby's  death  brouglr  it  all  back." — Froyn  t/ie  Letter  to  Mrs.  W. 


IN   HER    HOME.  34: 

Stretch  for  thirteen  hours,  one  thing  stepping  on  the  heels  ol 
another.' 

May  23^/ — If  your  eyes  were  bright  enough  you  might  have 

seen  me  and  my  cousin  George  P tearing  down  Broadway 

this  afternoon,  as  if  mad  dogs  were  after  us.  He  wanted  me 
to  have  a  fountain  pen,  and  the  only  way  to  accomplish  it  was 
to  take  me  down  to  the  place  where  they  are  sold,  below  the 
Astor  House.  I  wanted  to  walk,  and  so  did  he,  but  he  had  got 
to  be  on  a  boat  for  Norwich  at  five  p.m.  and  pack  up  between 
while  ;  however,  he  concluded  to  risk  it,  hence  the  way  we 
raced  was  a  caution.  I  have  just  written  him  a  long  letter  in 
rhyme  with  my  new  pen,  and  now  begin  one  in  prose  to  you. 
I  have  just  got  a  letter  from  an  anonymous  admirer  of  Stepping 
Heavenward,  enclosing  ten  dollars  to  give  away ;  I  wish  it  was 
a  thousand  !  The  children  are  in  tribulation  about  ihcir 
kitten,  who  committed  suicide  by  knocking  the  ironing-board 
on  to  herself.  H.  made  a  diagram  of  the  position  of  xXui  board 
that  I  might  fully  comprehend  the  situation,  and  then  showed 
me  how  the  corpse  lay.  They  were  not  willing  to  part  with  the 
remains,  and  buried  them  in  the  yard. 

Saturday. — I  went  to  Yonkers  with  M.  and  H.  to  spend  the 
day  with  Mrs.  B.  Her  children  are  sweet  and  interesting  as 
ever  ;  but  little  Maggie,  now  three  years  old,  is  the  "  queen  of 
the  house."  She  is  a  perfect  specimen  of  what  a  child  should 
be — gladsome,  well,  bright,  and  engaging.  Her  cheeks  are 
rosy  and  shining,  and  she  keeps  up  an  incessant  cliattcr.  They 
are  all  wild  about  her,  from  papa  and  mamma  down  to  tlie 
youngest  child. 

'  '*  I  must   tell  you  what    a   busy  day  I    had  yesterday,  being:  chaplain,   marketer, 

mother,  author,  and  consoler  from  early  morning  till  nine  at  ni.c^ht A  letter  came 

from  Cincinnati  from  the  editor  of  the  hymn-book  of  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.,  sayin;^  he  had 
some  of  my  hymns  in  it,  and  had  stopped  the  press  in  order  to  have  two  more,  whicJ»  he 
wonted  '  rif:ht  away.'  I  was  exactly  iu  the  mood  ;  it  was  our  little  Bessie's  annivors.iry, 
she  had  been  in  lieaven  eighteen  years  ;  think  what  slie  has  already  ^jaincd  by  my  one  y«*l 
of  sufTering; !  and  I  wanted  to  spend  it  for  others,  not  for  myself." — Ixticr  /*  kt* 
Iluslan  y,  May  20. 


346  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 


II. 

Home-Life  in  Dorset. 

Dorset,  June  lo,  1870. 

Here  we  are  again  in  dear  old  Dorset.  We  got  here  abou 
ten  on  Wednesday  evening,  expecting  to  find  the  house  dark 
and  forlorn,  but  Mrs.  F.  had  been  down  and  lighted  it  up,  and 
put  on  the  dining-table  bread,  biscuits,  butter,  cakes,  eggs,  etc., 
enough  to  last  for  days.  Thursday  was  hotter  than  any  day 
we  had  had  in  New  York,  and  not  very  good,  therefore,  for  the 
hard  work  of  unpacking,  and  the  yet  harder  work  of  sowing 
our  flower-seeds  in  a  huge  bed  shaped  like  a  palm-leaf.  But, 
with-  M.'s  help,  it  was  done  before  one  o'clock  to-day — a  her- 
culean task,  as  the  ground  had  to  be  thoroughly  dug  up  with  a 
trowel  ;  stones,  sticks,  and  roots  got  out,  and  the  earth  sifted 
in  our  hands.  The  back  of  my  neck  and  my  ears  are  nearly 
blistered.  M.  is  standing  behind  me  now  anointing  me  with 
cocoa  butter.  Our  place  looks  beautifully.  Some  of  the  trees 
set.  out  are  twelve  or  fifteen  feet  high,  and  when  fully  leaved 
will  make  quite  a  show.  Papa  is  to  be  here  about  ten  days,  as 
he  greatly  needs  the  rest ;  he  will  then  go  home  till  July  ist, 
when  he  will  bring  Jane  and  Martha.  I  told  Martha  I  thought 
it  very  good  of  Maria  to  be  willing  to  come  with  me,  and  she 
said  she  did  not  think  it  needed  much  goodness,  and  that  any- 
body  would  go  with  me  ^/^'where.  The  boys  have  a  little 
black  and  tan  dog  which  Culyer  gave  them,  and  M.'s  bird  is  a 
fine  singer.     Our  family  circle  now  consists  of 

Prentiss, 


Pa        I 

Ma 

Min. 

Geo. 

Hen. 

Maria 

(horse) 

Coco 

(cow) 

Sukey 

(dog) 

Nep 

(bird) 

Cherry 

IN    UKR    HOME. 


;47 


We  never  saw  Dorset  so  early,  and  when  the  foliage  was  in 
such  perfection. 

Last  Tuesday  I  reached  our  door  perfectly  and  disgracefully 
loaded  wi'th  parcels,  and  said  to  myself,  "I  wonder  what  Mr. 
M.  would  say  if  he  saw  me  with  this  load?"  when  instantly  he 
opened  the  door  to  let  me  in  !  Account  for  this  if  you  can. 
Why  should  I  have  thought  of  him  among  al\.  the  pcr)i)lc  I 
know  ?  Did  his  mind  touch  mine  through  the  closed  door  ?  It 
makes  me  almost  shudder  to  think  such  things  can  be.  Wrll, 
I  must  love  and  leave  you.  I  am  going  to  have  a  small  basket 
on  the  table  in  the  hall  with  ferns,  mosses,  and  shells  in  it. 
They  all  send  love  from  Pa  Prentiss  down  to  Sukey.  What  a 
pity  you  could  not  come  home  for  the  summer  and  go  back 
again  !  I  believe  I'll  go  to  your  bedroom  door  and  say,  "  I 
wonder  whether  Annie  would  shriek  out  if  she  saw  me  in  this 
old  sacque,  instead  of  her  pretty  one?"  and  perhaps  you'll 
open  and  let  me  in.  Will  you  or  won't  you?  Now  I'm  going 
to  ride. 

I've  been  and  I've  got  back,  and  I'm  frozen  solid,  and  am 
glad  I've  got  back  to  my  den.  G.  and  II.  are  now  in  the  kitchen 
making  biscuits.     Good-bye,  chicken.  Mamma  Pkkntiss. 

/u;ie  12///. — Everybody  is  in  bed  save  Darby  and  Joan.  We 
slept  last  night  under  four  blankets  and  a  silk  comforter,  which 
will  give  you  a  faint  idea  of  the  weather.  It  has  been  beautiful 
to-day,  and  we  have  sat  out  of  doors  a  good  deal.  Papa  and 
the  boys  went  out  to  our  hill  after  tea  last  evening  and  picked 
two  quarts  of  strawberries,  so  as  to  have  a  short-cake  to-day. 
M.  took  me  yesterday  to  see  a  nest  in  the  orchard  which  was 
full  of  birds  parted  into  fours— not  a  crack  between,  and  one  of 
them  so  crowded  that  it  filled  about  no  space  at  all.  The  hymn 
says,  "Birds  in  their  little  nests  agree,"  and  I  should  think  they 
would,  for  they  have  no  room  to  disagree  in.  They  all  foui 
stared  at  us  with  awful,  almost  embarrassing  solemnity,  and 
each  had  a  little  yellow  moustache.  I  had  no  idea  they  lived 
l)acked  in  so— no  wonder  they  looked  melancholy.  The  sight 
of  them,  especially  of  the  one  who  hatl  no  room  at  all,  made  mo 
quite  low-spirited. 

1 1  W/it'Sc/ay. —Yom-  letter  reached  us  on  Monday,  and  we  all 

A'ent  out  and  sat  in  a  row  on  the  upper  step,  like  birds  on  a 

ilegraph  wire,  and   papa   read  it  aloud.      I  am  lying  by  to-day 


348  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

— writing,  reading,  lounging,  and  enjoying  the  scenery.  You 
ought  to  see  papa  eat  strawberries  !  !  !  They  are  very  plentiful 
on  our  hill.  The  grass  on  the  lawn  is  pricking  up  like  needles  ; 
easy  to  see  if  3^ou  kneel  down  and  stare  hard,  but  absolutely  in- 
visible otherwise  ;  yet  papa  keeps  calling  me  to  look  out  of  the 
window  and  admire  it,  and  shouts  to  people  driving  by  to  do 
the  same.  He  has  just  come  in,  and  I  told  him  what  I  was  say- 
ing about  him,  on  which  he  gave  me  a  good  beating,  doubled 

up  his  fist  at  me,  and  then  kissed  me  to  make  up Dont  seiv 

Tsn't  it  enough  that  I  have  nearly  killed  myself  with  doing  it  ? 
We  have  just  heard  of  the  death  of  Dickens  and  the  sensation 
it  is  making  in  England. 

Thursday. — This  bird  of  ours  is  splendid.  I  have  just 
framed  the  two  best  likenesses  of  you  and  hung  them  up  in 
front  of  my  table.  You  would  laugh  at  papa's  ways  about  cof 
fee.  He  complains  that  he  drank  too  much  at  Philadelphia, 
and  says  that  with  strawberries  we  don't  need  it,  and  that  I 
may  tell  Maria  so.  I  tell  her,  and  lo  !  the  next  morning  there 
it  is.  I  ask  the  meaning,  and  she  says  he  came  down  saying  I 
did  not  feel  very  well  and  needed  it !  The  next  day  it  appears 
again.  Why  ?  He  had  been  down  and  ordered  it  because  it 
was  good.  The  next  day  he  orders  it  because  it  is  his  last  day 
here  but  one,  and  to-morrow  it  will  be  on  the  table  because  it 
is  the  last  !     Dreadful  man  !  and  yet  I  hate  to  have  him  go. 

Fj'iday. — I  drove  papa  to  iNIanchester,  and  as  usual,  this  ex- 
ploit brought  on  a  thunder  shower,  with  a  much  needed  deluge 
of  rain.  I  had  a  hard  time  getting  home,  and  got  wet  to  the 
skin.  I  had  not  only  to  drive,  but  keep  a  roll  of  matting  from 
slipping  out,  hold  up  the  boot  and  the  umbrella,  and  keep  stop- 
ping to  get  my  hat  out  of  my  eyes,  which  kept  knocking  over 
them.  Then  Coco  goes  like  the  wind  this  summer.  Fortunate- 
ly 1  had  my  waterproof  with  me  and  got  home  safely.  The 
v\ oist  of  it  is  that,  in  my  bewilderment,  I  refused  to  let  a  wom- 
an get  in  who  was  walking  to  South  Dorset.  I  shall  die  of 
remorse.     Well,  well,  how  it  is  raining,  to  be  sure. 

Monday. — I  hear  that  papa  sent  a  dispatch  to  somebody  lo 
know  how  I  got  here  from  Manchester.  I  do  not  wonder  he  is 
worried.  I  am  such  a  poor  driver,  and  it  rained  so  dreadfully- 
M.  follows  me  round  lii^e  a  little  dog  ;  if  I  go  down  cellar  she 
goes  down  ;   if  I   pick   a  strawberry  she  picks  one ;  if  I  stop 


IN  hi:r  no. Ml-; 


349 


picking  she  stops  She  is  the  sweetest  lamb  that  ever  was,  and 
I  am  the  Mary  that's  got  her.  I  don't  believe  anybody  else  in 
the  world  loves  me  so  well,  unless  it  possibly  is  papa,  and  lie 
doesn't  follow  me  down  cellar,  and  goes  off  and  picks  straw- 
berries all  by  himself,  and  that  on  Sunday,  too,  when  I  had 
forbidden  berrypicking  !  We  are  rioting  in  strawberries,  ju^  I 
as  we  did  last  summer.  We  live  a  good  deal  at  sixes  and 
sevens,  but  nobody  cares.  This  afternoon  I  have  been  arrang- 
ing a  basket  for  the  hall  table,  with  mosses,  ferns,  shells  and 
white  coral  ;  ever  so  pretty. 

JVednesday. — It  is  a  splendid  day  and  I  expect  papa.  The 
children  have  not  said  a  word  about  their  food,  though  jiartly 
owing  to  no  butcher  and  partly  to  the  heat,  I  have  had  for  twu 
days  next  to  nothing  ;  picked  fish  one  day  and  fish  picked  the 
next.  We  regarded  to-day's  dinner  as  a  most  sumptuous  one, 
and  I  am  sure  Victoria's  won't  taste  so  good  to  her.  Letters 
keep  pouring  in,  urging  papa  to  accept  the  Professorship  at 
Chicago,  and  declaring  tlie  vote  of  the  Assembly  to  be  the  voice 
of  God.  Of  course,  if  he  must  accept,  we  should  have  to  give 
up  our  dear  little  home  here.  But  to  me  his  leaving  the  min- 
istry would  be  the  worst  thing  about  it.  After  dinner  the  buys 
carried  me  off  bodily  to  see  strawberries  and  other  plants  ; 
then  they  made  me  go  to  the  mill,  and  by  that  time  I  had  no 
hair-pins  on  my  head,  to  say  nothing  of  hair.  The  boys  are 
working  away  like  all  possessed.  A  little  bird,  probably  one 
of  those  hatched  here,  has  just  come  and  perched  himself  on 
the  piazza  railing  in  front  of  me,  and  is  making  me  an  address 

which,   unfortunately,    I   do   not  understand You    have 

inherited  from  me  a  want  of  reverence  for  relics  and  the  like. 
I  wouldn't  go  as  far  as  our  barn  to  see  the  fig-leaves  Adam  and 
Eve  wore,  or  all  the  hair  of  all  the  apostles  ;  anel  when  people 
are  not  born  hero-worshippers,  they  can't  even  worshij-)  them- 
selves as  heroes.  Fancy  Dr.  Schaff  sending  me  back  the  MS. 
of  a  hymn  I  gave  him,  from  a  London  jirinting-ollice  I  What 
could  I  do  with  it  ?  cover  jelly  with  it  ?  He  sent  mc  a  InMnlifnl 
copy  of  his  book,  *'  Christ  in  Song." 

Thursday,  June  30///.— Papa,  with  J.  and  M.,  came  kite  last 
night,  and  we  all  made  as  great  a  time  as  if  the  (in-al  Mogul 
had  come.  They  give  a  most  terrific  account  of  the  heat  in 
fhe  city       You   ask  how   Stepping  Heavenward  is  selling.     So 


350  THE   LIFE    OF   MRS.    TRENTISS. 

far  14,000.  Nidworth  has  been  a  complete  failure,  though  the 
publishers  write  me  that  it  is  a  "gem." ' 

Monday^  July  ^ih. — M.  is  so  absorbed  in  the  study  of  Vick's 
floral  catalogue  that  she  speaks  of  seeing  such  a  thing  in  the 
Bible  or  Dictionary,  when  she  means  that  she  saw  it  in  Vick. 
I  did  the  same  thing  last  night.  She  and  I  get  down  on  our 
knees  and  look  solemnly  at  the  bare  ground  and  point  out  up- 
springing  weeds  as  better  than  nothing.  I  had  a  long  call  this 
morning  from  Mrs.  F.  Field,  of  East  Dorset.  They  had  a  dear 
little  bright-eyed  baby  baptized  yesterday,  which  sat  through 
all  the  morning  service  and  behaved  even  better  than  I  did, 
for  it  had  no  wandering  thoughts.  Mrs.  F.  said  some  friends 
of  hers  in  Brooklyn  received  letters  from  France  and  from 
Japan  simultaneously,  urging  them  to  read  Stepping  Heaven- 
ward, v/hich  was  the  first  they  heard  of  it.  We  have  celebrated 
the  glorious  Fourth  by  making  and  eating  ice-cream.  Papa 
brought  a  new-fashioned  freezer,  that  professed  to  freeze  in 
two  minutes.  We  screwed  it  to  the  wood-house  floor  —  or 
rather  H.  did — put  in  the  cream,  and  the  whole  family  stood 
and  watched  papa  while  he  turned  the  handle.  At  the  end  of 
two  minutes  we  unscrewed  the  cover  and  gazed  inside,  but 
there  were  no  signs  of  freezing,  and  to  make  a  long  stor}^  short, 
instead  of  writing  a  book  as  I  said  I  should,  there  we  all  were 
from  half-past  twelve  to  nearly  two  o'clock,  when  we  decided 
to  have  dinner  and  leave  the  servants  to  finish  it.  It  came  on 
to  the  table  at  last,  was  very  rich  and  rather  good.  The  boys 
spent  the  afternoon  in  the  woods  firing  off  crackers.  M.  went 
visiting  and  papa  took  me  to  drive,  it  being  a  delightful  after- 
noon. The  boys  have  a  few  Roman  candles  which  they  are 
going  to  send  off  as  soon  as  it  gets  dark  enough. 

July  iTft/i. — This  is  a  real  Dorset  day,  after  a  most  refreshing 
rain,  and  M.  and  I  have  kept  out  of  doors  the  whole  morning, 
gardening  and  in  the  woods.  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Humphrey  came 
down  and  spent  last  evening.  She  is  bright  and  wide  awake, 
and  admired  everything  from  the  scenery  out  of  doors  to  the 
matting  and  chintzes  within.  I  told  her  there  was  nothing  in 
the  house  to  be  compared  with  those  who  lived  in  it.  Here 
comes  a  woman  with  four  quarts  of  black  raspberries  and  a 
fuss  to  make  change.  Papa  and  the  boys  are  getting  in  the 
*  Nidworth^  and  His  Three  Mag-ic  H'ands,  published  by  Roberts  Brothers. 


IN    ITER    HOME. 


351 


last  hay  with  Albert.  M.  has  just  broiiglit  in  your  letter.  We 
are  glad  you  have  seen  those  remarkable  scenes  [at  Obcr- 
Ammergau].  One  would  fancy  it  would  become  an  old  story. 
I  should  not  like  to  see  the  crucifixion  ;  it  must  be  enough  to 
turn  one's  hair  white  in  a  single  night. 

Saturday. — Yesterday  I  went  with  the  children  to  walk  r(^uiKl 
Rupert.  We  turned  off  the  road  to  please  the  boys,  to  a  brook 
with  a  sandy  beach,  where  all  three  fell  to  digging  wells,  and  I 
fell  to  collecting  wild  grape-vine  and  roots  for  my  rustic  work, 
and  fell  into  the  brook  besides.  We  all  enjoyed  ourselves  so 
much  that  we  wished  we  had  our  dinners  and  could  stay  all 
day.  On  the  way  home,  just  as  we  got  near  Col.  Sykes',  we 
spied  papa  with  the  phaeton,  and  all  got  in.  We  must  have 
cut  a  pretty  figure,  driving  through  the  village  ;  M.  in  my  lap, 
G.  in  papa's,  and  H.  everywhere  in  general. 

July  \\th. — Miss  Vance  was  in  last  evening  after  tea,  and 
says  our  lawn  is  getting  on  extremely  well  and  that  our  seeds 
are  coming  up  beautifully.  This  greatly  soothed  M.'s  and  my 
own  uneasy  heart,  as  we  had  rather  supposed  the  lawn  ought 
to  be  a  thick  velvet,  and  the  seeds  we  sowed  two  weeks  ago  up 
and  blooming.  If  vegetable  corresponded  to  animal  life,  this 
would  be  the  case.  Fancy  that  what  were  eggs  long  after  we 
came  here,  and  then  naked  birds,  are  now  full-fledged  creat- 
ures on  the  wing,  all  off  getting  to  housekeeping,  each  on  his 
own  hook  ! 

July  i^fh. — M.  and  I  went  on  a  tramp  this  forenoon  and 
while  we  were  gone  Mrs.  M.  O.  R.  and  Mary  and  Mrs.  Van  W. 
called.  They  brought  news  of  the  coming  war.  Papa  showed 
them  all  over  the  house,  not  excepting  your  room,  which  I 
think  a  perfect  shame — for  the  room  looks  forlorn.  I  think 
m.en  ought  to  be  suppressed,  or  something  done  to  them. 
Maria  told  me  she  thought  papa's  sermon  Sunday  was  "ilc- 
gant."  2ist.—\  feel  greatly  troubled  lest  this  dreadful  war 
should  cut  us  off  from  each  other.  Mr.  Butler  writes  that  he 
does  not  see  how  people  are  to  get  home,  and  we  do  not  see 
either.  Papa  says  it  will  probably  be  impossible  to  liavc  the 
Evangelical  Alliance.     And  how  prices  of  finery  will  go  up  ! 

July  27///. — M.'s  and  my  own  perseverance  at  our  fl<nvcr-bed 
is  beginning,  at  last,  to  be  rewarded.  We  have  portulaccas 
mignonette,  white  candy-tuft,   nasturtiums,  eutocas,  etc.  ;  ana 


352  '       THE   LIFE    OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

the  morning-glories,  which  are  all  behindhand,  are  just  begin> 
ning  to  bloom.  Never  were  flowers  so  fought  for.  It  is  the 
lion  and  the  unicorn  over  again,  I  have  nearly  finished  "  Soil 
und  Haben,"  and  feel  more  like  talking  German  than  English. 
The  Riverside  Magazine  has  just  come  and  completed  my 
downfall,  as  it  has  a  syllable  left  out  of  one  of  my  verses,  as 
has  been  the  case  with  a  hymn  in  the  hymn-book  at  Cincinnati 
and  one  in  the  Association  Monthly.  I  am  now  fairly  entitled 
to  the  reputation  of  being  a  jolty  rhymster.  It  has  been  a  trifle 
cooler  to-day  and  we  are  all  refreshed  by  the  change. 

Friday. — Papa  read  me  last  evening  a  nice  thing  about  Step 
ping  Heavenward  from  Dr.  Robinson  in  Paris  and  a  lady  in 
Zurich,  and  I  went  to  bed  and  slept  the  sleep  of  the  just — till 
daylight,  when  five  hundred  flies  began  to  flap  into  my  ears,  up 
my  nose,  take  nips  off  my  face  and  hands,  and  drove  me  dis- 
tracted. They  woke  papa,  too,  but  he  goes  to  sleep  between 
the  pecks. 

August  ^th. — Tuesday  I  went  on  a  tramp  with  M.  and  brought 
home  a  gigantic  bracket.  We  met  papa  as  we  neared  the  house, 
and  he  had  had  his  first  bath  in  his  new  tank  at  the  mill,  and 
was  wild  with  joy,  as  were  also  the  boys.  After  dinner  I  made 
a  picture  frame  of  mosses,  lichens,  and  red  and  yellow  toad- 
stools, ever  so  pretty  ;  then  proofs  came,  then  we  had  tea,  and 
then  went  and  made  calls.  Yesterday  on  a  tramp  with  M.,  whr 
wanted  mosses,  then  home  with  about  a  bushel  of  ground-pine. 
Every  minute  of  the  afternoon  I  spent  in  trimming  the  grey 
room  with  the  pine  and  getting  up  my  bracket,  and  now  the 
room  looks  like  a  bower  of  bliss.  I  was  to  go  with  M.  on  an- 
other tramp  to-day,  but  it  rains,  and  rain  is  greatly  needed. 
The  heat  in  New  York  is  said  to  exceed  anything  in  the  mem- 
ory of  man,  something  absolutely  appalling. 

Friday. — Here  I  am  on  the  piazza  with  Miss  K.  by  my  side, 
reading  the  Life  of  Faber.  She  got  here  last  night  in  a  beauti- 
ful moonlight,  and  as  I  had  not  told  her  about  the  scenery,  she 
was  so  enchanted  with  it  on  opening  her  blinds  this  morning, 
that  she  burst  into  tears.  I  drove  her  round  Rupert  and  took 
her  into  Cheney's  woods,  and  the  boys  invited  us  down  to  their 
workshop  ;  so  we  went,  and  I  was  astonished  to  find  that  the 
ba.th-house  is  really  a  perfect  affair,  with  two  dressing-rooms 
and  everything   as  neat  as  a  pink.     Miss  K.  is  charmed  with 


IN    HKR    HOME.  353 

everything,  the  cornucopias,  natural  brackets,  crosses,  etc.,  and 
her  delusion  as  to  all  of  us,  whom  she  fancies  saints  and  angels, 
is  quite  charming,  only  it  won't  last. 

13//^.— There  is  a  good  deal  of  sickness  about  the  village.  I 
made  wine-jelly  for  four  different  people  yesterday,  and  the 
rest  of  the  morning  Miss  K.,  Mrs.  Humphrey,  and  myself  sat  on 
a  shawl  in  our  woods,  talking.  We  have  had  a  tremendous 
rain,  to  our  great  delight,  and  the  air  is  cooler,  but  the  grass- 
hoppers, which  are  like  the  frogs  of  Egypt,  are  not  diminished, 
and  are  devouring  everything.  I  got  a  letter  from  cousin  Mar\ 
yesterday,  who  says  she  has  no  doubt  we  shall  get  the  ocean 
up  here,  somehow,  and  raise  our  own  oysters  and  clams. 

16//V. — Papa  and  I  went  to  Manchester  to-day  to  make  up  3 
lot  of  calls,  and  among  other  persons,  we  saw  Mrs.  C.  of  Trov, 
a  bright-eyed  old  lady  who  was  a  schoolmate  of  my  motlier's. 
She  could  not  tell  me  anything  about  her  except  that  she  was 
very  bright  and  animated,  and  that  I  knew  before.  Mrs.  Wick- 
ham  asked  me  to  write  some  letters  for  a  fair  to  be  held  for 
their  church  to-morrow  ;  so  I  wrote  three  in  rhyme,  not  very 
good. 

August  2ot/i. — After  dinner  papa  went  to  Manchester,  taking 
both  boys,  and  I  went  off  with  M.  to  Cheney's  woods,  where  we 
got  baskets  full  of  moss,  etc.,  and  had  a  good  time.  The  children 
are  all  wild  on  the  subject  of  flowers  and  spend  the  evening 
studying  the  catalogues,  which  they  ought  to  know  by  heart. 
I  wonder  if  I  have  told  you  how  our  dog  hates  to  remember  the 
Sabbath  day  to  keep  it  holy  ?  The  moment  the  church-bell 
begins  to  ring,  no  matter  where  he  is,  or  how  soundly  asleep, 
he  runs  out  and  gazes  in  the  direction  of  the  church,  and  as 
the  last  stroke  strikes,  lifts  his  nose  high  in  the  air  and  sets  up 
the  most  awful  wails,  howls,  groans,  despairing  remonstra.ices 
you  can  imagine.  No  games  with  the  boys  to-day — no  romps, 
no  going  to  Manchester,  everybody  telling  me  to  get  off  their 
Sunday  clothes — aow  !  aow  !  aow  ! 

Dr.  Adams'  house  has  been  broken  into  and  robbed,  and  so 
has  Dr.  Field's.  Mrs.  11.  gave  us  the  history  of  a  cotillicl  in 
Chicago  between  her  husband  and  a  despei-ate  burglar  armed 
with  a  dirk,  who  wanted,  but  did  not  get  a  large  sum  of  money 
under  his  pillow  ;  also,  of  his  being  garroted  and  robbed,  and 
having  next  day  sent  him  a  purse  of  $150,  two  pistols,  a  slug,  a 
23 


354  THE    LIFE    OF    MRS.    PRENTISS. 

loaded  cane,  and  a  watchman's  rattle.  Imagine  him  as  going 
about  loaded  with  all  these  things  !  I  never  knew  people  wh  j 
had  met  with  such  bewitching  adventures,  and  she  has  the 
brightest  way  of  telling  them. 

Papa  has  got  a  telegram  from  Dr.  Schaff  asking  him  to  come 
on  to  his  little  Johnny's  funeral.  This  death  must  have  been 
very  sudden,  as  Dr.  Schaff  wrote  last  Tuesday  that  his  wife  was 
sick,  but  said  nothing  of  Johnny.  He  is  the  youngest  boy, 
about  nine  years  old,  I  think,  and  you  will  remember  they  lost 
Philip,  a  beautiful  child,  born  the  same  day  as  our  G.,  the  sum- 
mer we  were  at  Hunter.  When  the  despatch  came  papa  and 
M.  thought  it  was  bad  news  about  you,  and  I  only  thought  ol 
Mr.  Stearns  !  There  is  no  accounting  for  the  way  in  which  the 
human  mind  works.     And  now  for  bed,  you  sleepy  head. 

Monday. — A  splendid  day,  and  we  have  all  been  as  busy  as 
bees,  if  not  as  useful, — H.  making  a  whip  to  chastise  the  cow 
with,  M.,  Nep  and  myself  collecting  mosses  and  toadstools  ;  of 
the  latter  I  brought  home  185  !  We  were  out  till  dinner-time, 
and  after  dinner  I  changed  the  mosses  in  my  baskets  and  jar- 
dinet,  no  sm.all  job,  and  M.  spread  out  her  treasures.  She  has 
at  last  found  her  enthusiasm,  and  I  am  so  glad  not  only  to  have 
found  a  mate  in  my  tramps,  but  to  see  such  a  source  of  pleas- 
ure opening  before  her  as  woods,  fields  and  gardens  have  always 
been  to  me.  We  lighted  this  morning  on  what  I  supposed  to  be  a 
horned-headed,  ferocious  snake,  and  therefore  took  great  pleas- 
ure in  killing.  It  turned  out  to  be  a  common  striped  snake 
that  had  got  a  frog  partly  swallowed,  and  its  legs  sticking  out 
so  that  I  took  them  to  be  horns.  Nep  relieved  his  mind  by 
barking  at  it.  I  announced  at  dinner  that  I  was  going  to  send 
for  Vick's  catalogue  of  bulbs,  which  news  was  received  with  ac- 
clamation. The  fact  is,  we  all  seem  to  be  born  farmers  or  flor- 
ists ;  and  unless  you  bring  us  home  something  in  the  agricul- 
tural line,  I  don't  know  that  yo\i  can  bring  us  anything  we 
would  condescend  to  look  at.  It  is  awful  to  read  of  the  carnage 
going  on  in  Europe. 

Aug.  27///. — Papa  got  home  Tuesday  night.  Johnny  Schaff 's 
death  was  from  a  fall  ;  he  left  the  house  full  of  life  and  health, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  was  brought  in  insensible,  and  only  lived 

half  an  hour I  take  no  pleasure  in  writing  you,  because 

we  feel  that  you  are  not  likely  to  get  my  letters.     Still,  I  can 


N    HER    HOME. 


35S 


not  make  up  my  mind  to  stop  writing.  Never  was  a  busier  set 
of  people  than  we.  In  the  evening  I  read  to  the  children  from 
the  German  books  you  sent  them  ;  am  now  on  Thelka  Von 
Grumpert's,  which  is  a  really  nice  book.  I  tell  papa  we  are 
making  an  idol  out  of  this  place,  but  he  says  we  are  not. 

Tuesday. — We  all  set  out  to  climb  the  mountain  near  Deacon 
Kellogg's.  We  snatched  what  we  could  for  our  dinner,  and 
when  we  were  ready  to  eat  it,  it  proved  to  be  eggs,  bread  and 
meat,  cake,  guava  jelly,  cider  and  water.  We  enjoyed  the 
splendid  view  and  the  dinner,  and  then  papa  and  the  boys  went 
home,  and  M.,  Nep  and  myself  proceeded  to  climb  higher,  Nep 
so  affectionate  that  he  tired  me  out  hugging  me  with  his  "  arms," 
as  H.  calls  them,  and  nearly  eating  me  up,  while  M.  was  shak 
ing  with  laughter  at  his  silly  ways.  We  were  gone  from  lo  a.m 
to  nearly  6  p.m.,  and  brought  home  in  baskets,  bags,  pockets 
and  bosom,  about  thirty  natural  brackets,  some  very  large  and 
fearfully  heavy.  One  was  so  heavy  that  I  brought  it  home  by 
kicking  it  down  the  mountain.  I  have  just  got  some  tlower 
seeds  for  fall  planting,  and  the  children  are  looking  them  over 
as  some  would  gems  from  the  mine. 

Thursday^  September  ist. — Your  letter  has  come,  and  we  judge 
that  you  have  quite  given  up  Paris  ;  what  a  pity  to  have  to  do 
it !  We  spent  yesterday  at  Ilager  brook  with  Mrs.  Ilumplirey 
and  her  daughters ;  papa  drove  us  over  in  the  straw  wagon 
and  came  for  us  about  6  p.m.  We  had  lobster  salad  and  mar- 
malade, bread  and  butter  and  cake,  and  we  roasted  potatoes 
and  corn,  and  the  H.'s  had  a  pie  and  things  of  that  sort.  When 
they  saw  the  salad  they  set  up  such  shouts  of  joy  that  papa 
came  to  see  what  was  the  matter.  We  had  a  nice  time.  To- 
day I  have  had  proofs  to  correct  and  letters  to  write,  and  ber- 
ries to  dry,  but  not  a  minute  to  sit  down  and  think,  ever^'body 
needing  me  at  once.  All  are  busy  as  bees  and  send  K)ts  of  love. 
Give  ever  so  much  to  the  Smiths. 

September  '^tli. — Here  we  are  all  sitting  round  the  parlor 
table.  The  last  three  days  have  eacli  brought  a  letter  from 
you,  and  to-day  one  came  from  Mrs.  S.  to  me,  and  one  from 
Prof.  S.  to  papa.  I  have  no  doubt  that  the  decision  for  you  tc 
return  is  a  wise  one  and  hope  you  will  fall  in  with  it  cheerfully. 
Dr.  Schaff  is  here,  and  yesterday  pa[)a  took  iiim  to  Ilagcf 
brook,  and   to-day  to  the  c[uarries  ;  splendid  weather  for  both 


356  THE   LIFE    OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

excursions,  and  Dr.  S.  seems  to  have  enjoyed  them  extremely 
Last  evening  he  read  to  us  some  private  letters  of  Bismarck 
which  were  very  interesting  and  did  him  great  credit  in  every 
way.  I  had  a  long  call  from  M.  H.  to-day  ;  she  looked  as  sweet 
as  possible  and  I  loaded  her  with  flowers.  Papa  is  writing 
Mr.  B.  to  thank  him  for  a  basket  of  splendid  peaches  he  sent  as 
to-day.  H.  has  just  presented  me  with  three  pockets  full  of 
toadstools.  M.  walked  with  me  round  Rupert  square  tliis 
afternoon,  and  we  met  a  crazy  woman  who  said  she  wondered 
I  did  not  go  into  fits,  and  asked  me  why  I  didn't,  in  return  I 
asked  her  where  she  lived,  to  which  she  replied,  "  In  the  world." 
We  are  all  on  the  qui  vive  about  the  war  news,  especially  Louis 
Napoleon's  downfall,  and  you  may  depend  we  are  glad  he  has 
used  himself  up.  You  can  not  bring  anything  to  the  children 
that  will  please  them  as  seeds  would.  It  delights  me  to  see 
them  so  interested  in  garden  work.  Perhaps  this  will  be  my 
last  letter.  Your  loving  Mammie. 


IIL 

Further  Glimpses  of  her  Dorset  Life. 

The  following  Recollections  of  Mrs.  Prentiss  by  her  friend, 
Mrs.  Frederick  Field,  now  of  San  Jose,  California,  afford  addi- 
tional glimpses  of  her  home  life  in  Dorset.  The  picture  is 
drawn  in  fair  colors ;  but  it  is  as  truthful  as  it  is  fair : 

it  was  the  first  Sunday  in  September,  1866.  A  quiet,  perfect  day  among 
the  green  hills  of  Vermont ;  a  sacramental  Sabbath,  and  we  had  come 
seven  miles  over  the  mountain  to  go  up  to  the  house  of  the  Lord.  I  had 
brought  my  little  two-months-old  baby  in  my  arms,  intending  to  leave  her 
during  the  service  at  our  brother's  home,  which  was  near  the  church.  I 
knew  that  Mrs.  Prentiss  was  a  "summer-boarder"  in  this  home,  that  she 
vv^as  the  wife  of  a  distinguished  clergyman,  and  a  literary  woman  of  decided 
ability ;  but  it  was  before  the  "  Stepping  Heavenward  "  epoch  of  her  life, 
and  I  had  no  very  deep  interest  in  the  prospect  of  meeting  her.  We  went 
in  at  the  hospitably  open  door,  and  meeting  no  one,  sat  down  in  the  pleasant 
family  living-ioom.  It  was  about  noon,  and  we  could  hear  cheerful  voices 
talking  over  the  lunch-table  in  the  dining-room.    Presently  the  door  opened, 


IX    IIFJ;    IIo.MK. 


357 


and  a  slight,  delicate-featured  woman,  with  beautiful  large  dark  eyes,  came 
with  rapid  step  into  the  room,  going  across  to  the  hall  door;  but  her  quick 
eye  caught  a  glimpse  of  my  little  "bundle  of  flannel,"  and  not  pausing  for 
an  introduction  or  word  of  preparatory  speech,  she  came  towards  me  with 
a  beaming  face  and  outstretched  hands  : — 

"O,  have  you  a  baby  there?  How  delightful !  I  haven't  seen  one  fur 
such  an  age, — please,  may  I  take  it?  the  darling  tiny  creature. — a  girl: 
How  lovely  !  " 

She  took  the  baby  tenderly  in  her  arms  and  went  on  in  her  eager,  quick, 
informal  way,  but  with  a  bright  little  blush  and  smile, — "  I'm  not  very 
polite — pray,  let  me  introduce  myself!  I'm  Mrs.  Prentiss,  and  you  are 
Mrs.  F ,  I  know." 

After  a  little  more  sweet,  motherly  comment  and  question  over  the 
baby, — "a  touch  of  nature  "  which  at  once  made  us  "akin,"  she  asked. 
"  Have  you  brought  the  baby  to  be  christened  ?  " 

I  said.  No,  I  thought  it  would  be  better  to  wait  till  she  was  a  hi  tic 
older. 

*'  O,  no  !  "  she  pleaded,  "  do  let  us  take  her  over  to  the  church  now. 
The  younger  the  better,  I  think  ;  it  is  so  uncertain  about  our  keeping  such 
treasures." 

I  still  objected  that  I  had  not  dressed  the  little  one  for  so  public  an 
occasion. 

"  O,  never  mind  about  that,"  she  said.  "  She  is  really  lovelier  in  this 
simple  fashion  than  to  be  loaded  with  lace  and  embroidery."  Then,  hei 
sweet  face  growing  more  earnest, — "There  will  be  more  of  us  here  to-da) 
than  at  the  next  communion — more  of  us  to  pray  for  her." 

The  little  lamb  was  taken  into  the  fold  that  day,  and  I  was  Mrs.  Pren- 
tiss' warm  friend  forevermore.  Her  whole  beautiful  character  had  revealed 
itself  to  me  in  that  little  interview, — the  quick  perception,  the  wholly  frank, 
unconventional  manner,  the  sweet  motherliness,  the  cordial  interest  in  even 
a  stranger,  the  fervent  piety  which  could  not  bear  delay  in  duty,  and  even 
the  quaint,  original,  forcible  thought  and  way  of  expressing  it,  "There'll 
be  more  of  us  here  to  pray  for  her  to-day." 

For  seven  successive  summers  I  saw  more  or  less  of  her  in  this 
*•  Earthly  Paradise,"  as  she  used  to  call  it,  and  once  I  visited  her  in  her  city 
home.  I  have  been  favored  with  many  of  her  sparkling,  vivacious  letters, 
and  have  read  and  re-read  all  her  published  writings;  but  that  first  meet- 
ing held  in  it  for  me  the  key-note  of  all  her  wonderlully  beautiful  and 
symmetrical  character. 

She  brought  to  that  liitL  hamlet  among  the  hills  a  sweet  and  whole- 
some and  powerful  influence.  While  her  time  was  too  valuable  to  be 
wasted  in  a  general  sociability,  she  yet  found  leisure  for  an  extensive 
acquaintance,  for  a  kindly  interest  in  all  her  neighbors,  and  for  Ciiristian 
work  of  many  kinds.     Probably  the  weekly  meeting  for  nible-reading  and 


358  THE   LIFE    OF    MRS.    PRENTISS. 

prayer,  which  she  conducted,  was  her  closest  hnk  with  the  women  o 
Dorset ;  but  these  meetings  were  estabhshed  after  I  had  bidden  good-bye 
lo  the  dear  old  town,  and  I  leave  others  to  tell  how  their  "  hearts  burned 
within  them  as  she  opened  to  them  the  Scriptures." 

She  had  in  a  remarkable  degree  the  lovely  feminine  gift  oi  honie-inakhi.(. 
She  was  a  true  decorative  artist.  Her  room  when  she  was  boarding,  and 
her  home  after  it  was  completed,  were  bowers  of  beauty.  Every  walk  over 
hill  and  dale,  every  ramble  by  brookside  or  through  wildwood,  gave  to  hei 
some  fresh  home-adornment.  Some  shy  wildflower  or  fern,  or  brilliant- 
tinted  leaf,  a  bit  of  moss,  a  curious  lichen,  a  deserted  bird's-nest,  a  strange 
fragment  of  rock,  a  shining  pebble,  would  catch  her  passing  glance  and 
reveal  to  her  quick  artistic  sense  possibilities  of  use  which  were  quaint, 
original,  characteristic.  One  saw  from  afar  that  hers  was  a  poet's  home  ; 
and,  if  permitted  to  enter  its  gracious  portals,  the  first  impression  deepened 
into  certainty.  There  was  as  strong  an  individuality  about  her  home,  and 
especially  about  her  own  little  study,  as  there  was  about  herself  and  her 
writings.  A  cheerful,  sunny,  hospitable  Christian  home  !  Far  and  wide 
its  potent  influences  reached,  and  it  was  a  beautiful  thing  to  s«e  how  many 
another  home,  humble  or  stately,  grew  emulous  and  blossomed  into  a  new 
loveliness. 

Mrs.  Prentiss  was  naturally  a  shy  and  reserved  woman,  and  necessarily 
a  pre-occupied  one.  Therefore  she  was  sometimes  misunderstood.  But 
those  who  knew  her  best,  and  were  blest  with  her  rare  intimacy,  knew  her 
as  "a  perfect  woman  nobly  planned."  Her  conversation  was  charming. 
Her  close  study  of  nature  taught  her  a  thousand  happy  symbols  and  illus- 
trations, which  made  both  what  she  said  and  wrote  a  mosaic  of  exquisite 
comparisons.  Her  studies  of  character  were  equally  constant  and  pene- 
trating. Nothing  escaped  her;  no  pecuHarity  of  mind  or  manner  failed  of 
her  quick  observation,  but  it  was  always  a  kindly  interest.  She  did  not 
ridicule  that  which  was  simply  ignorance  or  weakness,  and  she  saw  with 
keen  pleasure  all  that  was  quaint,  original,  or  strong,  even  when  it  was  hid- 
den beneath  the  homeliest  garb.  She  had  the  true  artist's  liking  for  that 
which  was  simple  and^^/^r<?.  The  common  things  of  common  life  appealed 
to  her  sympathies  and  called  out  all  her  attention.  It  was  a  real,  hearty  in- 
terest, too — not  feigned,  even  in  a  sense  generally  thought  praiseworthy. 
Indeed,  no  one  ever  had  a  more  intense  scorn  of  every  sort  oi  feigning. 
She  was  honest,  truthful,  gc7itdne  to  the  highest  degree.  It  may  ha\e 
sometimes  led  her  into  seeming  lack  of  courtesy,  but  even  this  was  a  failing 
which  "  leaned  to  virtue's  side."  I  chanced  to  know  of  her  once  calling 
with  a  friend  on  a  country  neighbor,  and  finding  the  good  housewife  b'>-isy 
over  a  rag-carpet.  Mrs.  Prentiss,  who  had  never  chanced  to  see  one  of  these 
bits  o'.'  rural  manufacture  in  its  elementary  processes,  was  full  of  questions 
and  interest,  thereby  quite  evidently  pleasing  the  unassuming  artist  in  as- 
sorted rags  and  home-made  dyes.     When  the  visitors  were  safely  outside  the 


IN    HER    IIOMF.  35c 

door,  Mrs.  Prentiss'  friend  turned  to  her  with  the  exrlamation,  "  Whnt  tnct 
you  have  !  She  really  thought  you  were  interested  in  her  work  ! '"  The 
quick  blood  sprang  into  Mrs.  Prentiss'  face,  and  she  turned  upon  her  friend 
1  look  of  amazement  and  rebuke.  "Tact!"  she  said,  "I  despise  such 
.act ! — do  you  think  /  would  look  or  act  a  lie?  " 

She  was  an  exceedingly  practical  woman,  not  a  dreamer.  A  systematic, 
tliorough  jioust  keeper,  with  as  exalted  ideals  in  all  the  affairs  which  jK-rlain 
to  good  housewifery  as  in  those  matters  which  are  generally  thought  to 
transcend  these  humble  occupations.  Like  Solomon's  virtuous  woman  sht; 
"looked  well  after  the  ways  of  her  household."  Methodical,  careful  of 
minutes,  simple  in  her  tastes,  abstemious,  and  therefore  enjoying  evenly 
good  health  in  spite  of  her  delicate  constitution — this  is  the  secret  of  her 
accomplishing  so  much.  Yet  all  this  foundation  of  exactness  and  diligence 
was  so  "  rounded  with  leafy  gracefulness  "  that  she  never  seemed  angular 
or  unyielding. 

With  her  children  she  was  a  model  disciplinarian,  exceedingly  strict,  a 
wise  law-maker;  yet  withal  a  tender,  devoted,  self-sacrificing  mother.  I 
have  never  seen  such  exact  obedience  required  and  given — or  a  more  idol- 
ized mother.  "Mamma's"  word  was  indeed  Law,  but— O,  happy  combi- 
nation ! — it  was  also  Gospel! 

How  warm  and  true  her  friendship  was!  How  little  of  seltishness  in 
all  her  intercourse  with  other  women  !  How  well  she  loved  to  be  oi  scn'ice 
to  her  friends  !  How  anxious  that  each  should  reach  her  highest  possibili- 
ties of  attainment !  I  record  with  deepest  sense  of  obligation  the  cordial, 
generous,  sympathetic  assistance  of  many  kinds  extended  by  her  to  me  dur- 
ing our  whole  acquaintance.  To  every  earnest  worker  in  any  field  che 
gladly  "lent  a  hand,"  rejoicing  in  all  the  successes  of  others  as  if  they  were 
her  own. 

But  if  weakness,  or  trouble,  or  sorrow  of  any  sort  or  degree  overtook 
one  she  straightway  became  as  one  of  God"s  own  ministering  spirits— an 
angel  of  strength  and  consolation.  Always  more  eager,  however,  that  souh 
should  grow  than  that  pain  should  cease.  Volumes  couUl  be  made  of  hci 
letteis  to  friends  in  sorrow.    One  tender  monotone  steals  through  them  all,— 

"  Come  unto  me,  my  kindred,  I  enfold  you 
In  an  embrace  to  sufferers  only  known  ; 
Close  to  this  heart  1  tenderly  will  hold  you, 
Suppress  no  si^h,  keep  back  no  tear,  no  moar.. 

"  Thou  Man  of  Sorrow?,  teach  my  lips  that  often 
Have  told  tiie  sacred  story  of  my  woe, 
To  speak  of  Thee  till  stony  {jricfs  I  soften, 

Till  hearts  that  know  Thoe  nut  loam  Thee  to  know. 

"  Till  peace  takes  place  of  storm  and  a-italion, 
Till  lyinp:  on  the  current  of  Thy  will 
There  shall  be  j:::lor>inj;  in  tribulation, 
And  Christ  Himself  each  jmply  licart  siiall  GIL** 


360  THE    LIFE   OF    MRS.    PRENTISS. 

Few  have  the  gift  or  the  courage  to  deai  faithfully  yet  lovingly  with  an 
erring  soul,  but  she  did  not  shrink  back  even  from  this  service  to  those  she 
loved.  I  can  bear  witness  to  the  wisdom,  penetration,  skill,  and  fidelity 
with  which  she  probed  a  terribly  wounded  spirit,  and  then  said  with  tendei 
solemnity,  "  /  think  you  need  a  great  deal  of  good  pray  mg." 

O,  "vanished  hand,"  still  beckon  to  us  from  the  Eternal  Heights  O 
'  vor;':  that  is  still,"  speak  to  us  yet  from  the  Shining  Shore  ! 

"  Still  let  thy  mild  rebuking  stand 
Between  us  and  the  wronj;, 
And  thy  dear  memory  serve  to  maJce 
Our  fakli  in  goodness  strong." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  TRIAL   OF   FAITH. 

1871-1872. 
I. 

Two  Years  of  Suffering.  Its  Nature  and  Causes.  Spiritual  Conflicts.  Ill-health. 
Faith  a  Gift  to  be  won  by  Prayer.  Death-bed  of  Dr.  Skinner.  Visit  to  Philadel- 
phia. "  Daily  Food."  How  to  read  the  Bible  so  as  to  love  it  more.  LeltTs  ui 
Sympathy  and  Counsel.  "  Prayer  for  Holiness  brings  Suffering."  Perils  of  li-nnau 
Friendship. 

If  in  the  life  of  Mrs.  Prentiss  the  year  1870  was  marked 
with  a  white  stone  as  one  of  great  happiness,  the  two  follow- 
ing years  were  marked  by  unusual  and  very  acute  suffering 
Perhaps  something  of  this  was,  sooner  or  later,  to  have  been 
looked  for  in  the  experience  of  one  whose  organization,  b(»lh 
physical  and  mental,  was  so  intensely  sensitive.  Tragical  ele- 
ments are  latent  in  every  human  life,  especially  in  the  life  of 
woman.  And  the  finer  qualities  of  her  nature,  her  \ast  capac- 
ity of  loving  and  of  self-sacrifice,  her  peculiar  cares  and  triah., 
as  well  as  outward  events,  are  always  tending  to  bring  these 
elements  into  action.  What  scenes  surpassing  fable,  scenes 
both  bright  and  sad,  belong  to  the  secret  history  of  m.my  a 
quiet  woman's  heart!  Then  our  modern  civilization,  while 
placing  woman  higher  in  some  respecls  than  she  ever  stood 
before,  at  the  same  time  makes  her  pay  a  heavy  price  for  her 
advantages.  In  the  very  process  of  enlarging  her  sphere  and 
opportunities,  whether  intellectual  or  practical,  and  of  educat- 
ing her  for  their  duties,  does  it  not  also  expose  her  to  moraJ 
shocks  and  troubles  and  lacerations  of  feeling  almost  peculiar 
to  our  times?  Nor  is  religion  wlv^lly  exempt  from  the  spirit 
that  rules  the  age  or  the  hour.     There  is  a  close,  though  often 

(361) 


^(^2  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.  PRENTISS. 

very  subtle,  connexion  between  the  two  ;  just  as  there  is  be- 
tween the  working  of  nature  and  grace  in  the  individual  souL 

The  phase  of  her  history  upon  which  Mrs.  Prentiss  was 
now  entering  can  not  be  fully  understood  without  considering 
it  in  this  light.  The  melancholy  that  was  deep-rooted  in  her 
temperament,  and  her  tender,  all-absorbing  sympathies,  made 
her  very  quick  to  feel  whatever  of  pain  or  sorrow  pervaded  the 
social  atmosphere  about  her.  The  thought  of  what  others  were 
suffering  would  intrude  even  upon  her  rural  retreat  among  the 
mountains,  and  render  her  jealous  of  her  own  rest  and  joy. 
And  then,  in  all  her  later  years,  the  mystery  of  existence 
weighed  upon  her  heart  more  and  more  heavily.  In  a  nature 
so  deep  and  so  finely  strung,  great  happiness  and  great  sorrow 
are  divided  by  a  very  thin  partition. 

But  spiritual  trials  and  conflict  gave  its  keenest  edge  to 
the  suffering  of  these  years.  Such  trials  and  conflict  indeed 
were  not  wanting  in  the  earliest  stages  of  her  religious  life, 
nor  had  they  been  wanting  all  along  its  course;  but  they 
came  now  with  a  power  and  in  a  manner  almost  wholly  new ; 
and,  while  not  essentially  different  from  those  which  have 
afflicted  God's  children  in  all  ages,  they  are  yet  traceable,  in 
no  small  degree,  to  special  causes  and  circumstances  in  her 
own  case.  Early  in  1870  she  had  fallen  in  with  a  book  enti- 
tled ''  God's  Furnace,"  and  a  few  months  later  had  made  the 
acquaintance  of  its  author — a  remarkable  woman,  of  great 
strength  of  character,  of  deep  religious  experience,  and  full  of 
zeal  for  God.  Her  book  was  introduced  to  the  Christian  pub- 
lic by  a  distinguished  Presbyterian  clergyman,  and  was  highly 
recommended  by  other  eminent  divines.  By  means  of  this 
work,  as  well  as  by  correspondence  and  an  occasional  visit, 
she  exerted  for  a  time  a  good  deal  of  influence  over  Mrs. 
Prentiss.  At  first  this  influence  seemed  to  be  stimulatinc:  and 
healthful,  but  it  was  not  so  in  the  en  1.  The  points  of  sympa- 
thy and  the  points  of  difference  between  them  will  come  out 
so  plainly  in  Mrs.  Prentiss'  letters  that  they  need  not  be  indi- 
cated  here.  It  would  not  be  easy  to  imagine  two  women  more 
utterly  dissimilar,  except  in  love  to  God,  devotion  to  their 
Saviour,  and  delight  in  prayer.    These  formed  the  tie  betweeMi 


THE   TRIAL   OF   FAITH.  363 

them.     Miss  's   last  days  were  sadly  clouded  by  mental 

trouble  and  disease. 

A  little  book  called  "  Holiness  through  Faith,"  i)ublished 
about  this  time,  was  another  disturbing  influence  in  Mrs.  Pren- 
tiss' religious  life.  This  work  and  others  of  a  similar  character 
presented  a  somewhat  novel  theory  of  sanctification — a  theory 
zealously  taught,  and  which  excited  considerable  attention  in 
r,ertain  circles  of  the  Christian  community.  It  was,  in  brief, 
this:  As  we  are  justified  by  faith  without  the  deeds  of  the  law, 
cv^en  so  are  we  sanctified  by  faith  ;  in  other  words,  as  we  ob- 
tain forgiveness  and  acceptance  with  God  by  a  simple  act  of 
trust  in  Christ,  so  by  simple  trust  in  Christ  we  may  attain 
personal  holiness  ;  it  is  as  easy  for  divine  grace  to  save  us  at 
once  from  the  power,  as  from  the  guilt,  of  sin. 

For  more  than  thirty  years  Mrs.  Prentiss  had  made  the 
Christian  life  a  matter  of  earnest  thought  and  study.  The 
subject  of  personal  holiness  in  particular  had  occupied  her  at- 
tention. Whatever  promised  to  shed  new  light  upon  it  she 
eagerly  read.  Her  own  convictions,  however,  were  positive 
and  decided  ;  and,  although  at  first  inclined  to  accept  the  doc- 
trine of  ''  Holiness  through  Faith,"  further  reflection  satisfied 
her  that,  as  taught  by  its  special  advocates,  it  was  contrary  to 
Scripture  and  experience,  and  was  fraught  with  mischief..  Cer- 
tain unhappy  tendencies  and  results  of  the  doctrine,  both 
at  home  and  abroad,  as  shown  in  some  of  its  teachers  and  dis- 
ciples, also  forced  her  to  this  conclusion.  Folly  of  some  sort 
is  indeed  one  of  the  fatal  rocks  upon  which  all  overstrained 
theories  of  sanctification  are  almost  certain  to  be  wrecked  ; 
and  in  excitable,  crude  r.atures,  the  evil  is  apt  to  take  the  form 
cither  of  mental  extravagance,  perhaps  derangement,  or  of 
silly,  if  not  still  worse,  conduct.  lUit,  while  deeply  impressed 
with  the  mischief  of  these  Perfectionist  theories,  Mrs.  IVcntiss 
felt  the  heartiest  sympathy  with  all  earnest  seekers  after  hoji- 
ness,  and  was  grieved  by  what  seemed  to  her  harsh  or  unjust 
criticisms  upon  them. 

What  were  her  own  matured  views  on  the  subject  will  a[>. 
pear  in  the  sequel.  It  is  enough  to  say  here  that  "  Holiness 
through   Faith"  and  other  works,  in  advocacy  of  the  same  or 


364  THE    LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

similar  doctrines,  meeting  her  as  they  did  when  under  a  severe 
mental  strain,  and  touching  her  at  a  most  sensitive  point — for 
holiness  was  a  passion  of  her  whole  soul — had  for  a  time  a 
more  or  less  bewildering  effect.  She  kept  pondering  the 
questions  they  raised,  until  the  native  hue  of  her  piety — hith- 
erto so  resolute  and  cheerful — became  ''  sicklied  o'er  with  the 
pale  cast  of  thought." 

The  inward  conflict  which  has  been  referred  to  she  de- 
scribed sometimes,  in  the  language  of  the  old  divines,  as  the 
want  of  God's  "  sensible  presence,"  or  of  ''  conscious "  near- 
ness to  and  communion  with  Christ :  sometimes,  as  a  state 
of  ''spiritual  deprivation  or  aridity";  and  then  again,  as  a 
work  of  the  Evil  One.  She  laid  much  stress  upon  this  last 
point.  Her  belief  in  the  existence  of  Satan  and  his  influence 
over  human  souls  was  as  vivid  as  that  of  Luther;  she  did  not 
hesitate  to  accuse  him  of  being  the  fomenter  and,  in  a  sense, 
the  author  of  her  distress  ;  the  w^arnings  of  the  Bible  against 
his  "wiles"  she  accepted  as  in  full  force  still;  and  she  could 
offer  with  all  her  heart,  and  with  no  doubt  as  to  the  literal 
meaning  of  its  closing  words,  the  petition  of  the  old  Litany : 
''  That  it  may  please  Thee  to  strengthen  such  as  do  stand,  and 
to  comfort  and  help  the  weak-hearted,  and  to  raise  up  those 
who  fall,  and  finally  to  deat  down  Satan  under  our  feet ^ 

The  coming  trouble  seems  to  have  cast  its  shadow  across 
her  path  even  before  the  close  of  1870.  Early  in  1871  it  was 
upon  her  in  power.  Her  letters  contain  very  interesting  and 
pathetic  allusions  to  this  experience.  But  they  do  not  ex- 
plain it.  Nor  is  it  easy  to  explain.  In  the  absence  of  certain 
inciting  causes  from  without,  it  would  never,  perhaps,  have 
assumed  a  serious  form.  But  these  sharp  spiritual  trials  are 
generally  complicated  with  external  causes,  or  occasions ;  ill- 
health,  morbid  constitutional  tendencies,  los^  of  sleep,  wear- 
ing cares  and  responsibilities,  sudden  calamities,  worldly  loss 
or  disappointment,  and  the  like.  It  is  in  the  midst  of  such 
conditions  that  pious  souls  are  most  apt  to  be  assailed  by 
gloom  and  despondency.  And  yet  distressing  inv  ard  strug- 
gles and  depression  arise  sometimes  in  the  midst  of  outward 
prosperity   and    even    of    unusual    religious    enjoyment.      h: 


THE    TRIAL    01-    IIKR    FAITH.  365 

truth,  among  all  the  phenomena  of  the  Christian  life  none  are 
more  obscure  or  harder  to  seize  than  those  connected  with 
spiritual  conflict  and  temptation.  They  belong  largely  to  that 
ter7-a  incognita,  the  dark  back-ground  of  human  consciousness, 
where  are  the  primal  forces  of  the  soul  and  the  mustering- 
place  of  good  and  evil.  A  certain  mystery  enshrouds  all  pr-i- 
found  religious  emotion;  whether  of  the  peace  of  God  that 
passeth  all  understanding,  or  of  the  anguish  that  comes  of 
spiritual  desertion.  Those  who  are  in  the  midst  of  the  battle, 
or  bear  its  scars,  will  instantl)'  recognise  an  experience  like 
their  own  ;  to  all  others  it  must  needs  remain  inexplicable. 
Even  in  the  natural  life  our  deepest  joys  and  sorrows  are 
mostly  inarticulate;  the  great  poets  come  nearest  to  giving 
them  utterance;  but  how  much  the  reality  always  surpasses 
the  descriptions  of  the  poet's  pen,  even  though  it  be  the  pen 
of  a  Shakespeare,  or  a  Goethe  ! 

Mrs.  Prentiss  never  afterward  referred  to  this  ''  fiery  trial  " 
without  strong  emotion.  It  terrified  her  to  think  of  anyone 
she  loved  as  exposed  to  it ;  and — not  to  speak  of  other  classes 
— she  seemed  to  regard  those  as  specially  exposed  to  it,  who 
had  just  passed,  or  were  passing,  through  an  unusually  rich 
and  happy  religious  experience.  One  of  her  last  letters, 
addressed  to  a  dear  Christian  friend,  related  to  this  very  point. 
Here  are  a  few  sentences  from  it  : 

I  want  to  give  you  emphatic  warning  that  you  were  never 
in  such  danger  in  your  life.  This  is  ihe  language  of  bitter, 
bitter  experience  and  is  not  mine  alone.  Leighton  says  tlie 
great  Pirate  lets  the  empty  ships  go  by  and  robs  the  full 
ones.'  ....  I  do  hope  you  will  go  on  your  way  rejt)ieing, 
unto    the    perfect    day.      Hold  on   to   Ciirist   witli   your   tcclh  ' 

'  "  Especially  after  a  tinit:  of  some  special  seasons  of  jjrace,  aiul  some  special  new  iiii>- 
i;lies  of  grace,  received  in  such  .seasons,  (as  after  the  holy  sacrament),  then  will  he  scl 
on  most  eag:erly,  when  he  knows  of  the  richest  booty.  The  pirates  that  let  the  .ship?  p.i'<« 
.13  tliey  go  by  empty,  watch  them  well,  when  they  return  richly  laden  ;  s<i  doth  this  fjr«..vt 
Pirate." — Archbishop  Leighton,  on  I  Peter,  v.  8. 

2  '•  Cynegvius,  a  valiant  Athenian,  being  in  a  great  sea-fight  against  the  Mede?,  c.'.pying 
a  ship  of  the  enemy's  well  manned,  and  fitteri  for  service,  when  no  other  means  would 
serve,  he  grasped  it  willi  Ins  hands  to  maintain  the  fight ;  and  when  hJs  right  hand  waj 
cut  oflf,  he  held  close  with  his  left  ;  but  both  hands  being  taken  off,  he  held  it  fxM  will 
his  teeth." 


366  THE    LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

if  your  hands  get  crippled  ;  He,  alone,  is  stronger  than  Satan 
He,  alone,  knows  all  "  sore  temptations  "  mean. 

This,  certainly,  is  strong  language  and  will  sound  very 
strange  and  extravagant  in  many  ears;  and  yet  is  it  really 
stronger  language  than  that  often  used  by  inspired  prophets 
and  apostles?  or  than  that  of  Augustine,  Bernard,  Luther, 
Hooker,  Fenelon,  Bunyan,  and  of  many  saintly  women,  whose 
names  adorn  the  annals  of  piety?  Strong  as  it  is,  it  will  find 
an  echo  in  hearts  that  have  been  assailed  by  the  "  fiery  darts 
of  the  adversary,"  and  have  learned  to  cry  unto  God  out  of 
the  depths  of  mental  anguish  and  gloom  ;  while  others  still  in 
the  midst  of  the  conflict,  will,  perhaps,  be  helped  and  com, 
forted  to  read  of  the  manner  in  wdiich  Mrs.  Prentiss  passed 
through  it.  Nothing  in  the  story  of  her  religious  life  is  more 
striking  and  beautiful.  Her  faith  never  failed  ;  she  glorified 
God  in  the  midst  of  it  all ;  she  thanked  her  Lord  and  Master 
for  "  taking  her  in  hand,"  and  begged  Him  not  to  spare  her  for 
her  crying,  if  so  be  she  might  thus  learn  to  love  Him  more 
and  grow  more  like  Him !  And,  what  is  especially  note- 
worthy, l;^er  own  suffering,  instead  of  paralysing,  as  severe 
suffering  sometimes  does,  active  sympathy  with  the  sorrows 
and  trials  of  others,  had  just  the  contrary  effect.  "  How  soon," 
she  wrote  to  a  friend,  "  our  dear  Lord  presses  our  experiences 
into  His  own  service!  How  many  lessons  He  teaches  us  in 
order  to  make  us  '  sons '  (or  daughters)  '  of  consolation  ! '  " 
To  another  friend  she  wrote : 

I  did  not  perceive  any  selfishness  in  you  during  our  inter- 
view, and  you  need  not  be  afraid  that  I  am  so  taken  up  with 
my  own  affairs  as  to  feel  no  sympathy  with  you  in  yours.  What 
are  we  made  for,  if  not  to  bear  each  other's  burdens  ?  And 
this  ought  to  be  the  effect  of  trial  upon  us  ;  to  make  us,  in  the 
very  midst  of  it,  unusually  interested  in  the  interests  of  others. 
This  is  the  softening,  sanctifying  tendency  of  tribulation,  and 
he  who  lacks  it  needs  harder  blows. 

At  no  period  of  her  life  was  she  more  helpful  to  afflicted 
and  tempted  souls.  In  visits  to  sick-rooms  and  dying  beds, 
and   in  letters  to   friends  in  trouble,  her  heart  "like  the  noble 


THE   TRIAL   OF   HER   FAITH.  367 

tree  that  is  wounded  itself  when  it  gives  the  bahn,"  poured 
itself  forth  in  the  most  tender,  soothing  ministrations.  It 
seemed  at  times  fairly  surcharged  with  love.  Meanwhile  she 
kept  her  pain  to  herself ;  only  a  few  intimate  friends,  whoso 
prayers  she  solicited,  knew  what  a  struggle  was  going  on  in 
her  soul ;  to  all  others  she  appeared  very  much  as  in  her  ha[v 
piest  days.  "It  is  a  little  curious,"  she  wrote  to  a  youug 
friend,  ''  that  suffering  as  I  really  am,  nobody  sees  it.    *  Always 

bright ! '  people   say  to    me   to  my  amazement I  can 

add  nothing  but  love,  of  which  I  am  so  full  that  I  keep  giving 
off  in  thunder  and  lightning." 

The  preceding  account  would  be  incomplete  without  aclci- 
ing  that  the  state  of  her  health  during  this  period,  combined 
with  a  severe  pressure  of  varied  and  perplexing  cares,  served  to 
deepen  the  distress  caused  by  her  spiritual  trials.  Whatever 
view  may  be  taken  of  the  origin  and  nature  of  such  trials,  it 
is  certain  that  physical  depression  and  the  mental  strain  that 
comes  of  anxious,  care-worn  thoughts,  if  not  their  source, 
yet  tend  always  greatly  to  intensify  them.  In  the  present 
case  the  trials  would,  perhaps,  not  have  existed  without  the 
cares  and  the  ill-health;  while  the  latter,  even  in  the  entire 
absence  of  the  former,  would  have  occasioned  severe  suiferiiig 

If  I   need   make  any  apology  for  writing  you  so  often,   it 

To  Mrs      n^ust  be  this — I  can  not  help  it.    Having  dwelt  long  in 

Frederick    an  obscure,  oftentimes  dark  valley,  and  then  passed 

Field.  Neuo  .  ,.,  ,  c    ^' e        t'  rnr*         1 

York,  Jan.  out  mto  a  bright  plane  of  life,  I  am  full  of  tendei 
8,  1871.  yearnings  over  other  souls,  and  would  ghidly  spend 
my  whole  time  and  strength  for  them.  I  long,  especially,  t«j 
see  your  feet  established  on  an  immovable  Rock.  It  seems  to 
me  that  God  is  preparing  you  for  great  usefulness  by  the  liery 
trial  of  your  faith.  "They  learn  in  suffering  what  tliey  leach 
in  song."  Oh  how  true  this  is  !  Who  is  so  fitted  to  sing 
praises  to  Christ  as  he  who  has  learned  Him  in  hours  of  be 
reavement,  disappointment  and  despair? 

What  you  want  is  to  let  your  intellect  go  overboard,  if  need 
be,  and  to  take  what  God  gives  just  as  a  little  chiM  !.i!.i  s  it, 
without  money  and  without  price.      Faith  is  His,  un'  ' s. 

Mo  process  of  reasoning  can  soothe  a  mother's  empty,  aciiing 


368  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

heart,  or  bring  Christ  into  it  to  fill  up  ail  that  great  waste 
room.  But  faith  can.  And  faith  is  His  gift ;  a  gift  to  be  won 
by  prayer — prayer  persistent,  patient,  determined  ;  prayer  that 
will  take  no  denial ;  prayer  that  if  it  goes  away  one  day  un- 
satisfied, keeps  on  saying,  ''Well,  there's  to-morrow  and  to- 
morrow and  to-morrow ;  God  may  wait  to  be  gracious,  and  I 
can  wait  to  receive,  but  receive  I  must  and  will."  This  is  what 
the  Bible  means  when  it  says,  "  the  kingdom  of  heaven  suffereth 
violence  and  the  violent  take  it  by  force."  It  does  not  say 
the  eager,  the  impatient  take  it  by  force,  but  the  violent — they 
who  declare,  "  I  will  not  let  Thee  go  except  Thou  blfess  me." 
This  is  all  heart,  not  head  work.  Do  I  know  what  I  am  talking 
about  ?  Yes,  I  do.  But  my  intellect  is  of  no  use  to  me  when 
my  heart  is  breaking.  I  must  get  down  on  my  knees  and  own 
that  I  am  less  than  nothing,  ccek  God,  not  joy ;  consent  to  suffei, 
not  cry  for  relief.  And  how  transcendently  good  He  is  when 
He  brings  me  down  to  that  low  place  and  there  shows  me  that 
that  self-renouncing,  self-despairing  spot  is  just  the  one  where 
He  will  stoop  to  meet  me  ! 

My  dear  friend,  don't  let  this  great  tragedy  of  sorrow  fail 
to  do  everything  for  you.  It  is  a  dreadful  thing  to  lose  children; 
but  a  lost  sorrow  is  the  most  fearful  experience  life  can  bring.  I 
feel  this  so  strongly  that  I  could  go  on  writing  all  day.  It  has 
been  said  that  the  intent  of  sorrow  is  to  "toss  us  on  to  God's 
promises."  Alas,  these  waves  too  often  toss  us  away  out  to 
sea,  where  neither  sun  or  stars  appear  for  many  days.  I  pray, 
earnestly,  that  it  may  not  be  so  with  you. 

Amone  Mrs.  Prentiss'  most  beloved  and  honored  friends 
in  New  York  was  the  Rev.  Dr.  Thomas  H.  Skinner,  the  first 
pastor  of  the  Mercer  street  church,  and  then,  for  nearly  a 
quarter  of  a  century,  Professor  in  the  Union  Theological 
Seminary.  His  attachment  to  her,  as  also  that  of  his  family, 
was  very  strong.  Dr.  Skinner  had  been  among  the  leaders  of 
the  so-called  New  School  branch  of  the  Presbyterian  Church. 
He  was  a  preacher  of  great  spiritual  power,  an  able,  largo- 
hearted  theologian,  and  a  man  of  most  attractive  personal  and 
social  qualities.  He  was  artless  as  a  little  child,  full  of  enthu- 
siasm for  the  best  things,  and  a  pattern  of  saintly  goodness. 
It  used  to  be  said  that  every  stone  and  rafter  in  the  Church  of 


THE    TRIAL   OF   FAITH.  369 

the  Covenant  had  felt  the  touch  of  his  prayers.  This  vener 
able  servant  of  God  entered  into  his  rest  on  the  ist  of 
February,  1 871,  in  the  80th  year  of  his  age.  In  a  letter  to 
her  cousin,  Rev.  George  S.  Payson,  Mrs.  Prentiss  thus  refers 
to  his  last  hours : 

You  will  hear  at  dear  Tr.  Skinner's  funeral  to-morrow  his 
dying  testimony,  and  I  want  you  to  know  that  it  was  whispered 
in  my  enraptured  ear,  that  I  was  privileged  to  spend  the  whole 
of  Tuesday  and  all  he  lived  of  Wednesday,  at  his  side,  and  that 
mine  were  the  hands  that  closed  his  eyes  and  composed  his 
features  in  death.  What  blissful  moments  were  mine,  as  I  saw 
his  sainted  soul  fly  home ;  how  near  heaven  seemed  and  still 
seems  ! 

I  am  glad  to  hear  that  you  have  such  an  interesting  class, 
To  Miss  and  yet  more  glad  that  you  see  how  much  Christian 
Giimati,  Culture  they  need.  I  am  astonished  every  day  by 
New  York,  confessions  made  to  me  by  3'oung  people  as  to  their 
1S71.  woful  state  before  God,  and  do  hope  that  all  this  is  to 
prepare  me  to  write  something  for  them.  I  began  a  scries  of 
articles  in  the  Association  Monthly,  called  "  Twilight  Talks," 
which  may  perhaps  prove  to  be  in  a  degree  what  you  want,  but 
still  there  is  much  land  untraversed.  Meanwhile  I  want  to 
encourage  you  in  your  work,  by  letting  you  feel  my  deep 
sympathy  with  you  in  it,  and  to  assure  you  that  nothing  will 
be  so  blessed  to  your  scholars  as  personal  holiness  in  yourself. 
We  must  practise  what  we  preach,  and  give  ourselves  wholly  to 
Christ  if  we  want  to  persuade  others  to  do  it.  I  am  saying 
feebly  what  I  feel  very  deeply  and  constantly.  You  will  rejoice 
with  me  that  I  had  the  rare  privilege  of  being  with  dear  Dr. 
Skinner  during  his  last  hours.  If  you  have  a  copy  of  Watts 
and  Select  hymns,  read  the  io6th  hymn  of  the  2d  book,  begin- 
ning at  the  2d  verse,  "  Lord,  when  I  tjuit  this  earthly  stage,"  and 
fancy,  if  you  can,  the  awe  and  the  delight  with  which  I  heard 
him  repeat  those  nine  verses,  as  expressive  of  his  dying  love  to 
Christ.  I  feel  that  God  is  always  too  good  to  me,  but  to  have 
Him  make  me  witness  of  that  inspiring  scene,  humbles  me 
greatly.  In  how  many  ways  He  seeks  us,  now  smiling,  now 
.aressing,  now  reproving,  now  thwarting,  and  alivays  doing  the 
24 


370  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.   PRENTISS. 

very  best  thing  for  us  that  infinite  love  and  goodness  can  . 
Let  us  love  Him  better  and  better  every  day,  and  count  no 
work  for  Him  too  small  and  unnoticed  to  be  wrought  thank- 
fully whenever  He  gives  the  opportunity.  I  hope  I  am  learning 
to  honor  the  day  of  small  things. 

So  you  have  at  last  broken  the  ice  and  made  out,  after  al- 

To  Mrs    "^ost  a  year,  to  write  that  promised  letter  !     Well,  it 

Humphrey,  -^yas  wortli  waitinor  for,  and  welcome  when  it  came, 
New  York,         ,  ,  ,   .      ^  ,        .  ,  .  ' 

March  x^,  and  awakened  in  me  an  enthusiasm  about  seeing  the 

^^^^'  dear  creature,  of  which  I  hardly  thought  my  old  heart 
was  capable  (that  statement  is  an  affectation  ;  my  heart  isn't 
old,  and  never  will  be).  Our  plan  now  is,  if  all  prospers,  to  go 
to  Philadelphia  on  Friday  afternoon,  spend  the  night  with  you, 
Saturday  with  Mrs.  Kirkbride,  and  Sunday  and  part  of  Monday 
with  you.  I  hope  you  mean  to  let  us  have  a  quiet  little  time 
with  you,  unbeknown  to  strangers,  whom  I  dread  and  shrink 
from 

March  2W1. — What  a  queer  way  we  womenkind  have  of  con- 
fiding in  each  other  with  perfectly  reckless  disregard  of  conse- 
quences !  It  is  a  mercy  that  men  are,  for  the  most  part,  more 
prudent,  though  not  half  so  delightful  !  .  .  .  .  Well,  I'm  ever 
so  glad  I've  seen  you  in  your  home,  only  I  found  you  more 
frail  (in  the  way  of  health)  than  I  found  you  fair.  We  hear 
that  your  husband  preached  "splendidly,"  as  of  course  we 
knew  he  would,  and  the  next  exchange  I  shall  be  there  to  hear 
as  well  as  to  see. 

Coming  out  of  the  cars  yesterday,  I  picked   up  a  "Daily 

Food,"   dropped,   I   suppose,   by   its   owner,  "  Sarah  ,"   of 

Philadelphia,  given  her  by  "Miss  H.  in  1853."  It  has  travelled 
all  over  Europe,  and  is  therefore  no  doubt  precious  to  her  who 
thus  made  it  her  friend.  Now  how  shall  I  get  it  to  her  ?  Can 
you  learn  her  address,  or  shall  I  write  to  her  at  a  venture,  with- 
out one  ?  I  know  how  I  felt  when  I  once  lost  mine  ;  it  was 
given  me  in  1835,  and  has  gone  with  me  ever  since  whenever  I 
have  journeyed  (as  I  was  so  happy  as  to  find  it  again).'    I  think 

'  The  following  lines  found  on  one  of  its  blank  pages  were  written  perhaps  al  this  time 
Precious  companion  !  rendered  dear 
By  trial-hours  of  many  a  year, 
I  love  thee  with  a  tenderness 
Which  words  have  never  yet  defined. 


THE    TRIAL   OF    FAITH.  37 1 

i{  I  have  the  pleasure  of  restoring  it  to  its  owner,  she  will  feel 
glad  that  it  did  not  fall  into  profane  hands.  I  thought  it  righ*- 
to  look  through  it,  in  order  to  get  some  clue,  if  possible,  to  its 
destination  ;  I  fancy  it  was  the  silent  comforter  of  a  wife  who 
went  abroad  with  her  husband  for  his  health,  and  came  hom(! 
a  widow  ;  God  bless  her,  whoever  she  is,  for  she  evidently  be- 
lieves in  and  loves  Him.  What  sort  of  a  world  can  it  be  to 
those  who  don't  ?^  Remember  me  affectionately  to  yourself 
and  your  dear  ones,  and  now  we've  got  a-going,  let's  go  ahead. 
Aj^ri/  is/. — What  a  pity  it  is  that  one  can't  have  a  separate 
language  with  which  to  address  each  beloved  one  I  It  seems 
so  mean  to  use  the  same  words  to  two  or  three  or  four  people 
one  loves  so  differently  !  Now  about  my  visit  to  you.  One 
reason  why  I  did  not  stay  longer  was  your  looking  worn  out. 
When  I  am  feeling  so  dragged,  visitors  are  a  great  wear  and 
tear  to  me.  But  I  am  afraid  my  selfishness  would  have  got  the 
upperhand  of  me  if  that  were  the  whole  story.  I  can't  put  into 
words  the  perfect  horror  I  have  of  being  made  into  a  some- 
body ;  it  fairly  hurts  me,  and  if  I  had  stayed  a  week  with  you 
and  the  host  of  people  you  had  about  you,  I  should  iiave 
shriveled  up  into  the  size  of  a  pea.  I  can't  deny  having  streaks 
of  conceit,  but  I  /^/low  enough  about  myself  to  make  my  rational 
moments  bid  me  keep  in  the  background,  and  it  excruciates  me 
to  be  set  up  on  a  pinnacle.     So  don't  blame  me  if  I  lied  in  ter- 

Whcn  tired  and  sad  and  comfortless, 
With  achinfj  heart  and  weary  mind, 

How  oft  thy  words  of  promise  stealing 
Like  Gilcad's  balm-drops — soft  and  low. 

Have  touched  the  heart  with  power  of  healing, 
And  soothed  the  sharpest  hour  of  woe. 
1  A  friend  writing  to  Mrs.  Prentiss,  under  date  of  September  24,  1872,  refers  ti)  Lady 
Stanley's  high  praise  of  The  Story  Lizzie  Told,  and  then  adds  :  •'  Vou  must  be  so  accus- 
tomed to  friendly  '  notices' — so  almost  borod  by  them — that  I  hesitate  to  tell  you  of  meet- 
ing another  admirer  of  yours  in  the  person  of  Mrs.  ,  of  Philadelphia,  who  was  in- 
debted to  you  for  the  return  of  a  little  text-book.  She  means  to  call  on  you  some  day,  if 
she  is  ever  in  New  York,  to  thank  you  in  person  for  that  act  of  kindness  of  yours,  and 
for  your  'Stepping  Heavenward.'  She  is  a  daughter  of  the  late  Chief  Justice  of  Penn- 
sylvania.   Her  mother,  a  staunch  old  Scotch  lady  over  80,  has  just  returned  from  Eurojie. 

Mrs. is  a  very  interesting  woman,  of  warm  religious  feelings  and  very  ouLspt^kcn. 

She  was  the  companion  of  the  famous  Mrs.  IL,  of  Philadelphia,  all  through  the  war,— as 
one  of  the  independent  workers,  or  perhaps  in  connection  with  the  Christian  Commission. 
She  witnessed  llie  battle  of  ChancellorsvilJe — a  part  of  it  at  Mary's  Heights,  and  lias  toW 
me  a  great  deal  the.t  was  thrilling — told  as  s/u-  tells  it — even  at  this  late  day.  She  haj 
the  profoundest  belief  in  what  is  called  the  'work  of  faith'  by  prayer  and  I  don't  beiic%'e 
ihe  would  siirink  from  accepting  Prof.  Tyndall's  challenge." 


3/2  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.   PRENTISS. 

ror,  and  that  I  am  looking  forward  to  j^our  visit,  when  I  hope 
to  have  delightful  pow-wows  with  you  all  by  ourselves. 

I  am  glad  that  little  book  can  be  returned,  and  I  will  mail  it 
to  you.  I  couldn't  send  it  without  a  loving  word  ;  it  seemed  to 
fall  so  providentially  into  my  hands  and  knock  so  at  the  door 
of  my  heart.  In  what  strange  ways  people  get  introduced  to 
^ach  other,  and  how  subtle  are  the  influences  that  excite  a  bond 
of  sympathy  !  .  .  .  .  What  do  you  do  with  girls  who  fall  madly 
and  desperately  in  love  with  you  ?  Do  you  laugh  at  them,  or 
3cold  them,  or  love  them,  or  what  ?  I  used  to  do  just  such  crazy 
things,  and  am  not  sure  I  never  do  them  now.  Did  you  evei 
live  in  a  queerer  world  than  this  is  ? 

The  subject  of  your  letter  is  one  that  greatly  interests  me 

To  Miss    ^"^  ^  should  be  glad  to  get  more  light  upon  it  myself. 

B.  s.  Gil-  As  far  as  I  know,  those  who  live  apart  from  the  world, 

Pta7t,  NeiV  .  .i/-«i  !•  r  TT-  ^    '      n         - 

York.Api'il  communmg  with  God  and  workmg  for  Him  cliieny  in 
29>  1S71.  pj-^ygj.^  have  least  temptation  to  wandering  and  dis- 
iracted  thoughts,  and  are  more  devout  and  spiritual  than  those 
of  us  who  live  more  in  the  world.  But  it  stands  to  reason  that 
we  can't  all  live  so.  The  outside  work  must  go  on,  and  some- 
body must  do  it.  But  of  course  we  have  the  hardest  time, 
since  while  in  the  world  we  m^ust  not  be  of  it.  I  have  come,  of 
late,  to  think  that  both  classes  are  needed,  the  contemplative 
and  the  active,  and  God  does  certainly  take  the  latter  aside 
now  and  then  as  you  suggest,  by  sickness  and  in  other  ways,  to 
set  them  thinking.  Holiness  is  not  a  mere  abstraction  ;  it  is 
praying  and  loving  and  being  consecrate,  but  it  is  also  the  do- 
ing kind  deeds,  speaking  friendly  words,  being  in  a  crowd 
when  we  thirst  to  be  alone,  and  so  on  and  so  on.  The  study  of 
Christ's  life  on  earth  reveals  Him  to  us  as  incessantly  busy,  yet 
taking  special  seasons  for  prayer.  It  seems  to  me  that  we  should 
imitate  Him  in  this  respect,  and  when  we  find  ourselves  par- 
ticularly pressed  by  outward  cares  and  duties,  break  short  off 
and  withdraw  from  them  till  a  spir-tual  tone  returns.  For  we 
can  do  nothing  well  unless  Ave  do  it  consciously  for  Christ,  and 
this  consciousness  sometimes  gets  jostled  out  of  us  when  we 
undertake  to  do  too  much.  The  more  perfectly  He  is  formed 
in  us  the  more  light  we  shall  get  on  every  path  of  duty,  the  less 
likely  to  go  astray  from  the  happy  medium  of  not  all  contem- 


THE   TRIAL   OF   FAITH. 


0/3 


plation,  not  all  activity.  And  to  liave  Ilim  thus  to  dwell  in  us 
we  are  led  to  pray  by  His  own  last  prayer  for  us  on  earth, 
when  He  asked  for  the  "//;z  t/iem."  Let  us  pray  for  each  other 
that  tliis  may  be  our  blessed  lot.  Nothing  will  fit  us  for  life 
but  this.  In  ourselves  we  do  nothing  but  err  and  sin.  In  Him 
we  are  complete. 


11. 


Her  Husband  calle.!  to  Chicago.  Lines  on  going:  to  Dorset,  Letters  to  young  Friends, 
on  the  Christian  Life.  Narrow  Escape  from  Death.  Feeling  on  returning  to 
Town.  Her  "  Praying  Circle."  The  Chicago  Fire.  The  true  Art  of  Living.  God 
our  only  safe  Teacher.  An  easily-besetting  Sin.  Counsels  to  young  Friends. 
Letters. 

Mrs.  Prentiss'  letters  relating  to  her  husband's  call  to 
Chicago  require  perhaps  an  explanatory  word.  She  had  some 
very  pleasant  associations  with  Chicago.  It  was  the  home  of 
a  brother  and  sister-in-law,  to  whom  she  was  deeply  attached, 
and  of  other  dear  relatives.  There  Stepping  Heavenward  had 
first  appeared,  and  many  unknown  friends — grateful  for  the 
good  it  had  done  them — were  eager  to  form  her  acquaintance 
and  bid  her  welcome  to  the  great  city  of  the  Interior.  And 
yet  the  thought  of  removing  there  filled  her  with  the  utmost 
distress.  Had  her  husband's  call  been  to  some  distant  post  in 
the  field  of  Foreign  Missions,  her  language  on  the  subject  could 
hardly  have  been  stronger.  But  tliis  language  in  rcalit\'  ex- 
presses simply  the  depth  of  her  devotion  to  her  church  and 
her  friends  in  New  York,  her  morbid  sln-ncss  and  shrinking 
from  the  presence  of  strangers,  and,  espcciall\',  her  vivid  sense 
of  physical  inability  to  make  the  change  without  risking  the 
loss  of  what  health  and  power  of  sleep  still  remained  to  her. 
Misgiving  on  this  last  point  caused  her  husband  to  hesitate 
long  before  accepting  the  call,  and  to  feel  in  after  }-cars  that 
his  decision  to  accept  it,  although  conscientiously  made,  had 
been  a  grave  mistake. 


374  TIIE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

I  knew  that  you  would  rather  hear  from  me  than  through 
To  Mrs  ^^^  papers,  the  fact  that  Mr.  Prentiss  has  been  once 
Condict,  more  unanimously  elected  by  the  General  Assembly 
junei,  'to  the  Chicago  Professorship.  He  has  come  home 
'^^''  greatly  perplexed  as  to  his  duty,  and  prepared  to  do 
it,  at  any  reasonable  cost,  if  he  can  only  find  out  what  it  is. 
We  built  our  Dorset  house  not  as  a  mere  luxury,  but  with  the 
hope  that  the  easy  summer  there  would  so  build  up  our  health 
as  to  increase  and  prolong  our  usefulness  ;  but  going  to  Chicago 
would  deprive  us  of  that,  besides  cutting  us  off  from  all  our 
friends.  But  we  want  to  know  no  will  but  God's  in  this  ques- 
tion, and  I  am  sure  )''0U  and  Miss  K.  will  join  us  in  the  prayer 
that  we  may  not  so  much  as  suggest  to  Him  what  path  He  will 
lead  us  into.  The  experience  of  the  past  winter  would  impress 
upon  me  the  fact  t\\a.t  place  and  position  have  next  to  nothing  to 
do  with  happiness  ;  that  we  can  be  wretched  in  a  palace,  radiant 
in  a  dungeon.  Mr.  P.  said  yesterday  that  it  broke  his  heart  to 
hear  me  talk  of  giving  up  Dorset ;  but  perhaps  this  heart- 
breaking is  exactly  what  we  need  to  remind  us  of  what  for 
Tiiany  years  we  never  had  a  chance  to  forget,  that  we  are  pil- 
grims and  strangers  on  the  earth.  Two  lines  of  my  own  keep 
running  in  my  head  : 

Oh  foolish  heart,  oh  faithless  heart,  oh  heart  on  ruin  bent, 
Build  not  with  too  much  care  thy  nest,  thou  art  in  banishment. 

I  have  seen  the  time  when  the  sense  of  being  a  pilgrim  and  a 
stranger  was  very  sweet ;  and  God  can  sweeten  whatever  He 
does  to  us.  So  though  perplexed  we  are  not  in  despair,  and  if 
we  feel  that  we  are  this  summer  living  in  a  tent  that  may  soon 
blow  down,  it  is  just  what  you  are  doing,  and  in  this  point  we 
shall  have  fellowship.  I  am  sure  it  is  good  for  us  to  have  God 
take  up  the  rod,  even  if  He  lays  it  down  again  without  inflict- 
ing a  blow.  I  know  we  are  going  to  pray  till  light  comes.  I 
teel  very  differently  about  it  from  what  I  did  last  summer.  The 
mental  conflicts  of  the  past  winter  have  created  a  good  deal  of 
indifference  to  everything.  Without  conscious  union  and  near- 
ness to  my  Saviour  I  can't  be  happy  anywhere  ;  for  years  He 
has  been  the  meaning  of  everything,  and  when  He  only  see?ni 
gone  (I  know  it  is  only  seeming)  I  don't  much  care  where  I  am^ 
I  am  just  trying  to  be  patient  till  He  makes  Satan  let  goof  me 
Excuse  thib  selfish  letter,  and  write  me  one  just  as  bad  ! 


TIIF,   TRIM.   OF    F.MTIl.  375 

On  the  /th  of  June  she  went  to  Dorset  witli  licr  husband 
and  the  younger  children.  The  following  lines,  found  among 
her  papers,  will  show  in  what  temper  of  mind  she  went.  It 
is  worth  noting  that  they  were  written  on  Monday,  and  ex- 
press  a  week-day,  not  merely  a  passing  Sabbath  feeling: 

Once  more  at  home,  once  more  at  home — 

For  what,  dear  Lord,  I  pray  ? 
To  seek  enjoyment,  please  myself, 

Make  life  a  summer's  day  ? 

I  shrink,  I  shudder  at  the  thought ; 

For  what  is  home  to  me. 
When  sin  and  self  enchain  my  heart, 

And  keep  it  far  from  Thee  ? 

There  is  but  one  abiding  joy, 

Nor  place  that  joy  can  give  ; 
It  is  Thy  presence  that  makes  home, 

That  makes  it  "  hfe  to  live." 

That  presence  I  invoke  ;  naught  else 

I  venture  to  entreat ; 
1  long  to  see  Thee,  hear  Thy  voice, 

To  sit  at  Thy  dear  feet. 

I  trust  it  is  an  omen  of  good  that  the  first  letters  I  have  re- 
ceived since  coming    here  this    summer,  have  been 
yoln^g       full  of  the  themes  I  love  best.     I  was  much  struck 
Dof^ef      with  the  sentence  you  quote,  "  They  can  not  go  back," 
jjine  12,     etc.,'  and  believe  it  is  true  of  you.     Being  absorbed 
^  ^  *         in  divine  things  will  not  make  you  selfish  ;  you  will 
be  astonished    to   find   how    loving  you    will    gradually  grow 
toward  everybody,  how^  interested  in  their  interests,  how  liappy 
in  their  happiness.     And  if  you  want  work  for  Christ  (and  the 
more  you  love  Him  the  more  you  will  hn(:^  for  it),  that  work  will 
come  to  you  in  all   sorts   of  ways.     I  do  not   believe  much  in 
duty-work  ;  I  think  that  work  that  tells  is  the  spontaneous  ex- 
pression of   the  love  within.     Perhaps  you  have  not  been  sick 
enc'jgh  yourself  to  be   skilful   in  a    sick-room;    perhaps  your 
time  for  that  sort  of  work  hasn't  come.     I  meant  to  get  you  a 
little  book  called  "The  Life  of  Faith";  in  fact.  I  went  down 

'  From  the  "  Tower  of  the  Ciuss  of  Christ." 


37^  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.  PRENTISS. 

town  on  purpose  to  get  it,  and  passed  the  Episcopal  Sunday- 
school  Union  inadvertently.  I  think  that  little  book  teaches 
how  everything  we  do  may  be  done  for  Christ,  and  I  know  by 
what  little  experience  I  have  had  of  it,  that  it  is  a  blessed, 
thrice  blessed  way  to  live.  A  great  deal  is  meant  by  the  "cup 
of  cold  water,"  and  few  of  us  women  have  great  deeds  to  per- 
form, and  we  must  unite  ourselves  to  Him  by  little  ones.  The 
life  of  constant  self-discipline  God  requires  is  a  happy  one  ; 
you  and  I,  and  others  like  us,  find  a  wild,  absorbing  joy  in  lov- 
ing and  being  loved  ;  but  sweet,  abiding  peace  is  the  fruit  of 
steady  check  on  affections  that  m7is^  be  tamed  and  kept  under. 
Is  this  consistent  with  what  I  have  just  said  about  growing  more 
loving  as  we  grow  more  Christlike  ?  Yes,  it  is  ;  for  f/ia^  love  is 
absolutely  unselfish,  it  gives  much  and  asks  nothing,  and  there 
is  nothing  restless  about  it.  ...  I  have  been  very  hard  at  work 
ever  since  I  came  here,  with  my  darling  M.  as  my  constant,  joy- 
ous com.rade.  We  have  been  busy  with  our  flower-beds,  sowing 
and  transplanting,  and  half  the  china  closet  has  tumbled  out  of 
doors  to  serve  as  protection  from  the  sun.  Mr.  Prentiss  says 
we  do  the  work  of  three  days  in  one,  which  is  true,  for  we  cer- 
tainly have  performed  great  feats.  The  night  we  got  here  we 
found  the  house  lighted  up,  and  the  dining-table  covered  with 
good  things.  People  seem  glad  to  see  us  back.  I  don't  know 
which  of  my  Dorset  titles  would  strike  you  as  most  appropriate  ; 
one  man  calls  me  a  "branch,"  another  "a  child  of  nature,"  and 
another  "  Mr.  Prentiss'  woman,"  with  the  consoling  reflection 
that  I  sha'n't  rust  out. 

I  don't  know  when  I  have  written  so  few  letters  as  I  have 

this  summer.     My  right  hand  has  forgot  its  cunning 

!s;«1S!"    ^i^der  the  paralysis,  under  which  my  heart  has  suf- 

porset     fered,  and  which  is  now  beofinnins:  to  affect  mv  health 

1871.      quite  unfavorably.    It  seems  as  if  body  and  soul,  joints 

and  marrow,  were  rudely  separating.     Poor  George  is 

half-distracted  with    the  weight  of    the  questions    concerning 

Ciiicago,  and  I  think   almost  anything  would   be  better  than 

this  crucifying  suspense.     But  I  try  not  to  make  a  fuss.     Mrs. 

r> can  tell  you  that  I  have  said  to  her  many  times,  during 

the  last  few  years,  that,  according  to  the  ordinary  run  of  life, 
things  would  not  long  remain  with  us  as  they  were ;  they  were 
too  good  to  last. 


THE    TRIAL   OF    I  AITII.  377 

I  have  read  and  re-read  "Spiritual  Dislodgmcnts,"  and 
remember  it  well.  I  certainly  wish  for  such  dislodgments  in 
me  and  mine,  if  we  need  them.  George  has  got  hold  of  i\ 
book  of  A.'s,  which  delights  him,  Letters  of  WilHam  Von  Hum- 
boldt' I  suppose  you  recommended  it  to  her.  You  mi/si 
make  your  plans  to  come  here  this  summer;  I  don't  seem  fully 
to  have  a  thing  till  you've  seen  it. 

It  took  you  a  good  while  to  answer  my  last  letter,  and  I 
j.^  ^^^.^  have  been  equally  lazy  about  writing  since  yours 
Humphrey,  strayed  this  way.  Letter-writing^  has  always  been  a 
Aug.  8,'  resource  and  a  pastime  to  me  ;  a  refuge  in  head-achy 
^^^^'  and  rainy  days,  and  a  tiny  way  to  give  pleasure  or  do 
good,  when  other  paths  were  hedged  up.  But  this  summer  I 
have  left  almost  everybody  in  the  lurch,  partly  from  being 
more  or  less  unwell  and  out  of  spirits,  partly  because  the 
Chicago  question,  remaining  unsettled,  has  been  such  a  damper 
that  I  hadn't  much  heart  to  speak  either  of  it  or  of  anything 
else.  We  are  perplexed  beyond  measure  what  to  do ;  tiic 
thought  of  losing  my  viinister  and  having  him  turn  into  a 
professor,  agonizes  me;  on  the  other  hand,  who  knows  but  he 
needs  the  rest  that  change  of  labor  and  the  five  months' 
vacation  would  give  him  ?  His  chief  worry  is  the  effect  the 
attending  funerals  all  the  time  has  already  had  on  my  health. 
One  day  I  part  with  and  bury  (in  imagination !)  now  this 
friend,  now  that,  and  this  mournful  work  does  not  sharpen 
one's  appetite  or  invigorate  one's  frame.  I  don't  know  how 
we've  stood  the  conflict;  and  it  seems  rather  selfish  to  allude 
to  my  part  of  it;  but  women  live  more  in  their  friendships 
than  men  do,  and  the  thought  of  tearing  up  all  our  roots  is 
more  painful  to  me  than  to  my  husband,  and  he  will  not  lose 
what  I  must  lose  in  addition,  and  as  I  have  said  before,  my 
minister,  which  is  the  hardest  part  of  it. 

I  want  you  to  know  what  straits  we  arc  in,  in  the  hope 
that  you  and  yours  will  be  stirred  up  to  jiray  that  we  may 
make  no  mistake,  but  go  or  stay  as  the  Lord  would  have  us. 
We  have  found  our  little  home  a  nice  refuge  for  us  in  llie 
storm ;  Mr.  P.  says  he  should  have  gone  distracted  in  a 
boarding-house.     I  do  not  envy  you  the  Conway  crowd.     Hut 

»  <'  Briufc  ail  cine  rrcundiii,"'a  remarkable  little  bouk,  full  of  light  and  swcctntss. 


578  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

I  fancy  it  is  a  good  region  for  collecting  mosses  and  like 
treasures.  I  think  the  prettiest  thing  in  our  house  is  a  fiattish 
bracket,  fastened  to  the  wall  and  filled  Avith  flowers  >  it  looks 
like  a  graceful,  meandering  letter  S  and  is  one  of  the  idols  I  bow 

down  to I  have  "Holiness    through    Faith";    the   first 

time  I  read  it  at  Mr.  R 's  request,  I  said  I  believed  e\  ery 

word  of  it,  but  this  summer,  reading  it  in  a  different  mood,  it 
puzzles  me.  The  idea  is  plausible ;  if  God  tells  us  to  be  holy, 
as  He  certainly  does,  is  it  not  for  Him  to  provide  the  way  for 
our  being  so,  and  is  it  likely  He  needs  our  whole  lives  before 
He  can  accomplish  His  own  design  ?  I  talked  with  Mr.  Pren- 
tiss about  itj  and  at  first  he  rejected  the  thought  of  holiness 
through  faith,  but  last  night  we  got  upon  the  subject  again  and 
he  was  interested  in  some  sentences  I  read  to  him  and  said  he 
must  examine  the  book.  When  are  you  coming  to  spend  that 
week  in  Dorset  ?     Love  to  each  and  all. 

I  have  had  many  letters  to  write  to-da}^,  for  to-day  our  fate 
is  sealed,  and  we  are  to  go.     But  I  must  say  a  few 
you7ig     words  to  you  before  going  to  bed,  for  I  want  to  tell 
Kaidn/eis  Y^^  ^^^  Very  glad  I  am  that  you  have  been  enabled 
Sept.  9,    to  take  a  step^  which  will,  I  am  sure,  lead  the  way 
to  other  steps,   increase  your  holiness,  your  useful- 
ness,  and  your   happiness.     May   God   bless  you   in   this    at- 
tempt to  honor    Him,  and   open    out   before  you    new  fields 
wherein    to   glorify  and   please    Him.     This  has    not   been    a 
sorrowful  day  to  me.     I  hope  I  am  offering  to  a  "  patient  God 
a  patient  heart."     I  do  not  want  to  make  the  worst  of  the  sac- 
rifice He  requires,  or  to  fancy  I  am  only  to  be  happy  on  my 
own  conditions.     He  has  been  most  of  the  time  for  years  "  the 
spring  of  all  my  joys,  the  life  of  my  delights."     Where  He  is,  I 
want  to  be  ;  where  He  bids  me  go,  I  want  to  go,  and  to  go  in 
courage  and   faith.     Anything  is  better  than  too  strong  cleav- 
ing to  this  world.     As  I  was  situated   in   New  York,  I  lacked 
not  a  single  earthly  blessing.     I  had  a  delightful  home,  free- 
dom from  care,  and  a  circle  of  friends  whom  I  loved  with  all 
my  heart,  and  who  loved  me  in  a  way  to  satisfy  even  my  ra- 
pacity.    Only  one  thing  was  wanting  to  my  perfect  felicity — a 
heart  absolutely  holy  ;  and  was  I   likely  to  get  that  when  my 
^  Praying  before  others. 


THE  TRIAL   OF   FAITH. 


379 


earthly  cup  was  so  full  ?  At  any  rate  I  am  content.  \o\v  and 
then,  as  the  reality  of  this  coming  separation  overwhelms  me, 
I  feel  a  spasm  of  pain  at  my  heart  (I  don't  suppose  we  are  ex- 
pected to  cease  to  be  human  beings  or  to  lose  our  sensibilities) 
but  if  my  Lord  and  Master  will  go  with  me,  and  keeps  on  mak- 
ing me  more  and  more  like  Himself,  I  can  be  happy  anywhere 
and  under  any  conditions,  or  be  made  content  not  to  be  happy. 
All  this  is  of  little  consequence  in  itself,  but  perhaps  it  may 
make  me  more  of  a  blessing  to  others,  which,  next  to  personal 
holiness,  is  the  only  thing  to  be  sought  very  earnestly.  As  to 
my  relation  to  you.  He  who  brought  you  under  my  wing  for  a 
season  has  something  better  for  you  in  store.  Thafs  His  way. 
And  wherever  I  am,  if  it  is  His  will  and  His  Spirit  dictates  the 
prayer,  I  shall  pray  for  you,  and  that  is  the  best  service  one 
soul  can  render  another. 

About  this  time  she  and  her  husband  had  an  almost  mirac- 
ulous escape  from  instant  death.  They  had  been  calling  upon 
friends  in  East  Dorset  and  were  returning  home.  Not  far 
from  that  village  is  a  very  dangerous  railroad  crossing;  and, 
as  the  sight  or  sound  of  cars  so  affrighted  Coco  as  to  render 
him  uncontrollable,  special  pains  had  been  taken  not  to  arriv-e 
at  the  spot  while  a  train  was  due.  But  just  as  they  reached 
it,  an  "irregular"  train,  whose  approach  was  masked  behind 
high  bushes,  came  rushing  along  unannounced,  and  had  they 
been  only  a  few  seconds  later,  would  have  crushed  them  to 
atoms.  So  severe  was  the  shock  and  so  vivid  the  sense  of  a 
Providential  escape,  that  scarcely  a  word  was  spoken  during 
the  drive  home.  The  next  morning  she  gave  her  husband  a 
very  interesting  account  of  the  thoughts  that,  like  lightning, 
flashed  upon  her  mind  while  feeling  herself  in  the  jaws  of 
death.  They  related  exclusively  to  her  children— how  they 
would  receive  the  news,  and  what  would  become  of  them.' 

»  Since  the  warning  we  had  the  other  dny  that  we  may  be  snatched  from  our  cliildrru, 
ought  we  not  to  try  to  form  some  plan  for  them  in  case  of  such  an  emergency  ?  I  cant 
account  for  it,  that  in  those  fearful  moments  I  thought  only  of  tlicm.  I  shouM  linve  sad 
1  ought  to  have  had  some  thought  of  the  world  we  seemed  to  be  hurrying  to.  I  supptx 
tlierc  was  the  instinctive  yet  blind  sense  that  the  preparation  for  the  next  life  had  be<  o 
made  for  us  by  the  Lord,  and  that,  as  far  as  that  life  was  concerned,  wc  had  nolhintj  aO 
do  but  to  enter  it.  I  shudder  when  I  think  what  a  desolate  lionie  this  might  be  lo-da/. 
Poor  things  !  they've  got  everytliing  before  them,  without  one  experience  and  disdpline  V  - 
From  a  letter  to  her  husband,  dated  Dorset,  Hept.  17,  1S71. 


38o  THE   LIFE   OF    MRS.    PRENTISS. 

Late  in  September  she  returned  to  town,  still  oppressed 
by  the  thought  of  going  to  Chicago.  In  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Con- 
diet,  dated  October  2d,  she  writes : 

We  got  home  on  Friday  night,  and  very  early  on  Saturday 
were  settled  down  into  the  old  routine.  But  how  different  ev- 
erything is  !  At  church  tearful,  clouded  faces  ;  at  home,  warm- 
hearted friends  looking  upon  us  as  for  the  last  time.  It  is  all 
right.  I  would  not  venture  to  change  it  if  I  could  ;  but  it  is 
hard.  At  times  it  seems  as  if  my  heart  would  literally  break 
to  pieces,  but  we  are  mercifully  kept  from  realising  our  sor- 
rows all  the  time.  The  waves  dash  in  and  almost  overwhelm, 
but  then  they  sweep  back  and  are  stayed  by  an  almighty,  kind 

hand It  is  like  tearing  off  a  limb   to  leave  our  dear 

prayer-meeting.     Next  to   my  closet,   it  has  been  to  me  the 
sweetest  spot  on  earth.     I  never  expect  to  find  such  another. 

To  another  friend  she  writes  a  day  or  two  later : 

My  heart  fairly  collapses  at  times,  at  the  thought  of  tearing 
myself  away  from  those  whom  Christian  ties  have  made  dearer 
to  me  than  my  kindred  after  the  flesh.  And  then  comes  the 
precious  privilege  and  relief  of  telling  my  yet  dearer  and  better 
Friend  all  about  it,  and  the  sweet  peace  begotten  of  yielding 
my  will  to  His.  I  want  to  be  of  all  the  use  and  comfort  to  you 
and  to  the  other  dear  ones  He  will  let  me  be  during  these  few 
months.  Do  pray  for  me  that  I  may  so  live  Christ  as  to  bear 
others  along  with  me  on  a  resistless  tide.  Those  lines  you 
copied  for  me  are  a  great  comfort : 

"  Rather  walking  with  Him  by  faith, 
Than  walking  alone  in  the  light." 

Of  the  little  praying  circle,  alluded  to  in  her  letter  to  Mrs. 
C,  one  of  its  members  writes : 

It  was  unique  even  among  meetings  of  its  own  class.  Held  in  an  upper 
chamber,  never  largely  attended  and  sometimes  only  by  the  "  two  or  three," 
it  was  almost  unknown  except  to  the  few,  who  regarded  it  as  among  their 
chicfest  religious  privileges.  All  the  other  members  would  gladly  have  had 
Mrs.  Prentiss  assume  its  entire  leadership  ;  but  she  assumed  nothing  and  was 
no  doubt  quite  unconscious  as  to  how  large  an  extent  she  was  the  life  and 
soul  of  the  meetino^.     In  the  familiar  conversation  of  the  hour  nothing:  fell 


THE   TRIAL   OF    FAITlf.  381 

from  her  lips  but  such  sim]ilG  words  as,  comiiij^  from  a  ^lowin;:;  hcnrt. 
streng-thened  and  deepened  the  spiritual  life  of  all  who  heard  ihcm.  She 
had,  in  a  degree  I  never  knew  equalled,  the  gift  of  leading  the  devotions  ot 
others.  But  there  was  not  the  slightest  approach  to  performance  in  her 
prayers ;  she  abhorred  the  very  thought  of  it.  Those  who  knelt  with  hei 
can  never  forget  the  pure  devotion  which  breathed  itself  forth  in  simple 
exquisite  language  ;  but  it  was  something  beyond  the  power  of  description. 

Another  member  of  the  circle  writes : 

Her  prayers  were  so  simple,  so  earnest,  so  childlike.  We  all  felt  we 
were  in  the  very  presence  of  our  loving  Father.  One  thing  especially  al- 
ways impressed  me  during  that  sacred  hour  —  it  was  her  quietness  of 
manner.  She  was  very  cordial  and  affectionate  in  her  greetings  with  each 
one,  as  we  assembled,  and  then  a  holy  awe,  a  solemn  hush,  came  over  her 
spirit  and  she  seemed  like  one  who  saw  the  Lord  !  O  how  we  all  miss  her  ! 
There  is  never  a  meeting  but  we  keep  her  in  remembrance  and  talk  to- 
gether lovingly  about  her. 

Mr.  Prentiss  sent  in  his  resignation  last  evening,  and  the 
church  refused  unanimously  to  let  him  go.  "Praise 
j^tnd,  Go<^  iroxTi  whom  all  blessings  flow"  penetrated  the 
Oct.  21,  avails  of  the  parsonage,  as  they  sang  it  when  the  de 
cision  was  made,  and  so  we  knew  our  fate  before  a 
whole  parlorful  rushed  in  to  shake  hands,  kiss,  and  con- 
gratulate. You  would  have  been  delighted  had  you  been 
here.  Prof.  Smith,  who  took  strong  ground  in  favor  of  his 
going,  takes  just  as  strong  ground  in  favor  of  his  staying.  I 
feel  that  all  this  is  the  result  of  prayer.  I  never  got  any  light 
on  the  Chicago  question  when  I  prayed  about  it ;  never  could  see 
that  it  was  our  duty  to  go  ;  but  I  yielded  my  judgment  and  my 
will,  because  my  husband  thought  that  he  must  go.  I  think  our 
very  reluctance  to  it  made  us  shrink  from  evading  it ;  we  were  so 
afraid  of  opposing  God's  will.  Now  the  matter  is  taken  out  of 
our  hands  and  we  have  only  to  resume  our  work  here.  God 
grant  that  this  baptism  of  fire  may  purge  and  purify  us  and 
prepare  us  to  be  a  great  blessing  to  the  church.  It  is  a  most 
awe-inspiring  providence,  God's  burning  us  out  of  Chicago, 
and  we  feel  like  putting  our  shoes  from  off  our  feet  and  ador- 
ing Him  in  silence Pray  that  the  lessons  we  have  been 

learning  through  so  many  trying  months  may  help  us  to  be 
helping  hands  to  those  who  may  pass  through  similar  straits. 
One  of  my  brothers  was  burnt  out,  and  his  own  and  his  wife'l 


382  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.   PRENTISS. 

letters  drew  tears  even  down  to  the  kitchen.  For  two  days  and 
a  night  they  lost  their  baby,  five  months  old,  in  addition  to  all 
the  other  horrors.  But  they  found  refuge  with  a  dear  cousin, 
who  has  filled  his  house  to  overflowing.  I  may  have  spoken  of 
this  cousin  to  you  :  he  has  a  foundling  home  on  Mliller's  trust 
system. 

Before  taking  leave  of  the  call  to  Chicago  a  word  should  be 
added  to  what  she  says  concerning  it  in  her  letters.  The  pros- 
pect of  her  husband's  accepting  the  call  rendered  the  summer 
a  very  trying  one ;  but  it  was  far  from  being  all  gloom.  She 
had  a  marvellous  power  of  extracting  amusement  out  of  the 
most  untoward  situation.  In  1843  she  wrote  from  Richmond, 
referring  to  Mr.  Persico's  troubles  :  "  I  never  spent  such  melan- 
choly weeks  in  my  life  ;  in  the  midst  of  it,  however,  I  made  fun 
for  the  rest,  as  I  believe  I  should  do  in  a  dungeon."  It  was  so 
in  the  present  case.  She  relieved  the  weariness  of  many  an 
anxious  hour  by  ''  making  fun  for  the  rest.'*  As  an  illustra- 
tion, one  evening  at  Dorset,  while  sitting  at  the  parlor-table 
with  her  children  and  a  young  friend  who  was  visiting  her, 
she  seized  a  pencil  and  wrote  for  their  entertainment  a  ludi- 
crous version  of  the  Chicago  affair  in  two  parts.  •  The  paper 
which  was  preserved  by  her  young  friend,  illustrates  also  an- 
other trait  which  she  thus  describes  at  the  close  of  a  frolic- 
some letter  to  Miss  E.  A.  Warner:  "  It  is  one  of  the  peculiar 
peculiarities  of  this  woman  that  she  usually  carries  on,  when 
she  wants  to  hide  her  feelins."     Part  I.  begins  thus  : 

Where  are  the  Prentisses?     Gone  to  Chicago, 
Gone  bag  and  baggage,  the  whole  crew  and  cargo. 
Well,  they  would  go,  now  let's  talk  'em  over, 
And  see  what  compensation  we  can  discover. 

They  are  all  "talked  over"  and  then  in  Part  II.  the  scene 
changes  to  Chicago  itself : 

Sing  a  song  of  sixpence,  a  pocket  full  of  r^-e, 
Here's  the  tribe  of  Prentisses  just  agoing  by ; 

Dr.  Prentiss  he, 

Mrs.  Prentiss  she. 
And  a  lot  of  young  ones  that  all  begin  with  P. 


THE    TRIAL   OF   FAITH.  383 

Well,  let  us  view  them  with  our  eyes, 

And  then  begin  to  criticise. 

And  first  the  doctor,  what  of  him  ? 

The  doctor  having  been  fully  discussed,  the  criticism  pro 
ceeds  : 

Now  for  his  wife ;  well,  who  would  guess 

She  had  set  up  as  authoress  ! 

Why,  she  looks  just  like  all  of  us, 

Instead  of  being  in  a  muss 

Like  other  literary  folks. 

They  say  she  likes  her  little  jokes, 

As  well  as  those  who've  less  to  say 

Of  stepping  on  the  heavenward  way. 

Mrs.  P.  having  been  disposed  of: 

Next  comes  Miss  P. ;  how  she  will  make 
The  hearts  of  all  the  students  quake  ! 
She'll  wind  them  round  her  fingers'  ends, 
And  find  in  them  one  hundred  friends. 
They'll  sit  on  benches  in  a  row 
And  watch  her  come,  and  watch  her  go  ; 
But  they'll  be  safe,  the  precious  rogues, 
Since  she  don't  care  for  theologues. 

The  other  children   next   pasy   in   review  and   the  whole 
closes  with  the  remark  : 

Time,  and  Time  only,  will  make  clear 
Why  the  poor  geese  came  cackling  here. 

My  heart  is  as  young  and  fresh  as  any  girl's,  and  I  am  al- 
most as  prone  to  make  idols  out  of  those  I  love,  as  I 
^'^^^^^^^''^  ever  was  ;  and  this  is  inconsistent  with  the  devotion 
Netu  York,  owed  to  God.  I  do  not  mean  that  I  really  love  any- 
;\^z;.,  1S71.  ^^^^^  better  than  I  do  Him,  but  that  human  fricnd- 
siiips  tempt  me.  This  easily-besetting  sin  of  mine  has  cost  me 
more  anguish  than  tongue  can  tell,  and  I  deeply  feel  the  need 
of  more  love  to  Christ  because  of  my  earthly  tendencies. 
I  know  I  would  sacrifice  every  friend  to  Christ,  but  I  am  net 
always  disentangled.  How^  strange  this  is,  how  passing  strange  ! 
....  In  a  religious  way  I  find  myself  much  better  off  here 
thau  ut   Dorset.      But   there   is   yet  something  apparently  "  far 


384  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

off,  unattained  and  dim  "  that  I  once  thought  I  had  caught  b> 
the  wing,  and  enjoyed  for  a  season,  but  which  has  flown  away 
I  am  afraid  I  am  one  who  has  got  to  be  a  religious  enthusiasf; 
01  else  dissatisfied  and  restless.  When  I  give  way  to  an  im- 
pulse to  the  first,  I  care  for  nothing  worldly,  and  am  at  peace. 
But  1  am  unfitted  for  daily  life,  for  secular  talk  and  reading. 
Is  it  so  with  you  ?  Does  it  run  in  our  blood  ?  I  do  long  and 
pray  for  more  light ;  and  I  will  pray  for  more  love,  cost  what  it 
may.  Sometimes  I  long  to  get  to  heaven,  where  I  shall  not 
have  to  be  curbing  my  heart  with  bit  and  bridle,  and  can  be  as 
loving  as  I  want  to  be — as  I  am. 

There  never  will  come  a  time  in  my  life  when  I  shall  not 

To  a  young  "^^^^  ^^1  "^7  Christian  friends  can  do  for  me  in  the 

Friend      way  of   prayer.     I    am    elad  vou   are   making  such 

abroad —  .    -       „  o  .,  o 

New  York,  Special  effort  to  oppose  the  icebergs  of  foreign  life  ; 
ec.  ,1  71-  Qq(J  ^\\\  meet  and  bless  you  in  it.  Let  us,  if  need 
be,  forsake  all  others  to  cleave  only  unto  Him.  I  don't  knov/ 
ol  any  real  misery  except  coldness  between  myself  and  Him. 

I  feel  warm  and  tender  sympathy  with  you  in  all  your 
struggles,  temptations,  joys,  hopes  and  fears.  As  you  grow 
older  you  will  settle  more  ;  your  troubles,  your  ups  and  downs, 
belong  chiefly  to  your   youth.     Yes,  you  are  right  in  saying 

that  Mr.   P could  go  through  mental  conflicts  in  silence  ; 

he  does  not  pine  for  sympathy  as  you  and  I  do.  You  and  I 
are  like  David,  though  I  forget,  at  the  moment,  what  he  said 
happened  to  him  when  he  "  kept  silence."  (On  the  whole,  I 
don't  think  he  said  anything  ! ) 

I  think  the  proper  attitude  to  take  when  restless  and  lone- 
some and  homesick  for  want  of  God's  sensible  presence,  is  just 
what  we  take  when  we  are  missing  earthly  friends  for  whom 
we  yearn,  and  whose  letters,  though  better  than  nothing,  do  not 
half  feed  our  hungry  hearts,  or  fill  our  longing  arms.  And 
that  attitude  is  patient  waiting.  We  are  such  many-sided  creat- 
ures tliat  I  do  not  doubt  you  are  getting  pleasure  and  profit 
out  of  this  European  trip,  although  it  is  alloyed  by  so  much 
mental  suffering.  But  such  is  life.  It  has  in  it  nothing  per- 
fect, nothing  ideal.  And  this  conviction,  deepened  every  now 
and  then  by  some  new  experience,  tosses  me  anew,  again  and 
again,  back  on  to  that  Rock  of  Ages  that  ever  stands  sure  and 


THE  TRIAL   OF   FAITH.  385 

Steadfast,  and  on  whom  our  feet  may  rest.  It  is  well  to  have 
the  waves  and  billows  of  temptation  beat  upon  us  ;  if  only  to 
magnify  this  Rock  and  teach  us  what  a  refuge  He  is. 

I  went,  last  night,  with  ]\Ir.  Prentiss  and  most  of  the  chil- 
dren, to  hear  the  freedmen  and  women  in  a  concert  at  Stein- 
way  Hall.  It  was  packed  with  a  brilliant,  delighted  audience, 
and  it  was  most  interesting  to  see  these  young  people,  simple, 
dignified,  earnest,  full  of  love  to  Christ,  and  preparing,  by  edu- 
cation, to  work  for  Him.  They  sang  "Keep  me  from  sinking 
down  "  most  sweetly  and  touchingiy.  I  see  you  have  the  blues 
as  I  used  to  do,  at  your  age,  and  hope  you  will  outgrow  them 
as  I  have  done.  I  suffer  without  being  depressed  in  the  sense  in 
which  I  used  to  be  ;  it  is  hard  to  make  the  distinction,  but  I 
am  sure  there  is  one.  I  do  not  know  how  far  this  change  has 
come  to  mc  as  a  happy  wife  and  mother,  or  how  far  it  is  re- 
ligious. 

Aunt  Jane's  Hero  was  published  in  1S71.  It  is  hardly  in- 
ferior to  Stepping  Heavenward  in  its  pictures  of  life  and  charac- 
ter, or  in  the  wisdom  of  its  teaching.  The  object  of  the  book 
is  to  depict  a  home  whose  happiness  flows  from  the  living 
Rock,  Christ  Jesus.  It  protests  also  against  the  extravagance 
and  other  evils  of  the  times,  which  tend  to  check  the  growtii 
of  such  homes,  and  aims  to  show  that  there  are  still  treasures 
of  love  and  peace  on  earth,  that  may  be  bought  without  money 
and  without  price. 


III. 

"Holiness  and  Usefulness  go  hand-in-hand."  No  two  Souls  dealt  with  exactly  alike 
Visits  to  a  stricken  Home.  Anoiher  Side  of  her  Life.  Visit  to  a  Hospital.  Chris. 
tian  Friendship.  Letters  to  a  bereaved  Mother.  Submission  not  inconsistent  with 
Sufferinp.  Thoufjhts  at  the  Funeral  of  a  little  "Wee  Davie."  Assurance  of  Faith. 
Funeral  of   Prof.  Hopkins.     His  Character. 

She  entered  the  new  year  with  wcar)^  steps,  but  with  a 
heart  full  of  tenderness  and  s\'mpat!iy.  A  circle  of  young 
friends,  living  in  different  parts  of  the  conntrx-.  looked  eagerly 
to  her  at  this  time  for  counsel,  and  she  was  deeply  interested 


386  THE  IJFE   OF  MRS.   PRENTISS. 

in  their  spiritual  progress    She  wrote  to  one  of  them,  January 

Your  letter  has  filled  my  heart  with  joy.  What  a  Friend 
and  Saviour  we  have,  and  how  He  comes  tc  meet  us  on  the 
sea,  If  we  attempt  to  walk  there  in  faith  !  1  trust  your  path 
now  will  be  the  ever  brightening  one  that  shall  shine  more  and 
more  unto  the  perfect  day.  Holiness  and  usefulness  go  hand 
m  hand,  and  you  will  have  new  work  to  do  for  the  Lord  •  pray- 
ing work  especially.  I^  raj  for  me,  for  one  thing  ;  I  need  a  great 
deal  of  grace  and  strength  just  now.  And  pray  for  all  the 
souls  that  are  struggling  toward  the  light.  O  that  everybody 
hved  only  for  Christ  ! 


• 


A  few  weeks  later,  writing  to  the  same  friend,  she  thu.s 
refers  to  the  "fiery  trials  "  through  which  she  was  passing: 

This  season  of  temptation  came  right  on  the  heels,  if  I  may 
use  such  an  expression,  of  great  spiritual  illumination.     Of  all 
the  years  of  my  life,  1869-70  was  the  brightest,  and  it  seems  as 
If  Satan  could  not  endure  the  sight  of  so  much  love  and  joy 
and  so  took  me  in  hand.     I  have  not  liked  to  say  much  about 
this  to  young  people,  lest  it  should  discourage  them  ;  but  I  hope 
you  will  not  allow  it  to  affect  you  in  that  way,  for  you  must  re- 
member that  no  two  souls  are  dealt  with  exactly  alike,  and  that 
the  fact  that  many  are  looking  up  to  me  may  have  made  it 
necessary  for  our  dear  Lord  to  let  Satan  harass  and  trouble  me 
as  he  has  done.    No,  let  us  not  be  discouraged,  either  you  or  I 
but  rejoice  that  we  are  called  of  our  God  and  Saviour  to  give 

H,m  all  we  have  and  all  we  are If  we  spent  more  time 

in  thanking  God  for  what  He  has  done  for  us,  He  would  do 
more. 

Malignant  scarlet  fever  and  other  diseases,  had  invaded 
and  isolated  the  household  mentioned  in  the  following  letter 
Their  gratitude  to  Mrs.  Prentiss  wa^.  most  touching;  it  was  as 
If  she  had  been  to  them  an  angel  from  heaven.  The  story  of 
her  visits  and  loving  sympathy  became  a  part  of  their  family 
history. 

1  came  home  half  frozen  from  my  early  walk  this  morning, 


THE    TRIAL   OF    FAITH.  3<?; 

To  Mrs.      to  get  warm   not  only  at   the  fire,  but  at  your  letter 
N^e^^Vork'  which  I   foiind  awaiting  me.     I   am  glad  if  you  got 

yaft.  26,     anvthino-  out   of  your  visit  here.     I  rather  think  v< ni 
and   I    shall    "  rattle    on  "   together  after  we    get    t<} 

heaven You  say,  "How  skilfully  God  does  fashion  cpt 

crosses  for  us  !  "  Yes,  He  does.  And  for  my  part,  I  don't 
want  to  rest  and  be  happy  without  crosses — for  I  can't  do  with- 
out them.  People  who  set  themselves  up  to  be  pastors  and 
teachers  must  "learn  in  suffering"  what  they  teach  in  sermon 
and  book.  I  felt  a  good  deal  reproved  for  making  so  much  of 
mine,  however,  by  my  further  visits  to  the  house  of  mourning 
of  which  we  spoke  to  you.  The  little  boy  died  early  on  the 
next  day,  and  before  his  funeral  his  poor  mother,  neglected  by 
everybody  else,  found  it  some  comfort  to  get  into  my  arms  and 
cry  there.  It  made  no  difference  that  twenty  years  had  passed 
since  I  had  had  a  sorrow  akin  to  hers  ;  we  mothers  may  cease 
to  grieve,  outwardly,  but  we  never  forget  what  has  gone  out  of 
our  sight,  or  ever  grow  unsympathetic  because  time  has  soothed 
and  quieted  us.  But  I  need  not  say  this  to  you.  This  was  on 
Saturday  ;  all  day  Monday  I  was  there  watching  a  most  lovely 
little  girl,  about  six  years  old,  writhing  in  agony  ;  she  died 
early  next  morning.  The  next  eldest  has  been  in  a  critical 
state,  but  will  probably  recover  a  certain  degree  of  health.  l)ut 
as  a  helpless  cripple.  Well,  I  felt  that  death  alone  was  i/icwor- 
ahle — other  enemies  we  may  hope  and  pray  and  fight  against — 
and  that  while  my  children  lived,  I  need  not  despair.  The  tax 
on  my  sympathies  in  the  case  of  those  half-distracted  parents 
has  been  terrible,  and  yet  I  wouldn't  accept  a  cold  heart  if  I 
had  the  offer  of  it. 

To  give  you  another  side  of  my  life,  let  me  tell  you  of  a 
pleasant  dinner  party  one  night  last  week,  wlicn  we  met  Gov. 

and  Mrs.  C ,  of  Massachusetts,  and    I    fell   in   love  with  her 

then  and  there Well,  this  is  a  queer  world,  full  of  (]uecr 

things  and  queer  people.  Will  the  next  one  be  more  common- 
place ?     I  know  not.     Good-bye. 

Word  has  come  from  that  afllicted  household  tliat  the 
grandfather  has  died  suddenly  of  iieart  disease.  His  wife 
died  a  few  weeks  ago.  Mr.  Pientiss  saw  him  on  Saturday  in 
vigorous  health. 


388  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    TRENTISS. 

Can  you  tell  me  where  the  blotting-pads  can  be  obtained  ? 

To  Miss    I  have  got  into  a  hospital  of  spines;  in  other  words,  of 

Morse,     people  who  can  only  write  lying  on  their  backs,  one 

^Ma?xh^K'  ^^  them  an  authoress,  and  I  think  it  would  be  a  mercy 

1872.  to  them  if  I  could  furnish  them  with  the  means  of 
writing  with  more  ease  than  they  do  now.  I  was  sorry  you 
could  not  come  last  Friday,  and  hope  you  will  be  able  to  join 

us  Saturday,  when  the  club  meets  here How  you  would 

have  enjoyed  yesterday  afternoon  with  me  !  I  went  to  call  on 
a  lady  from  Vermont,  who  is  here  for  spinal  treatment,  and 
found  in  her  room  another  of  the  patients.  Two  such  bright 
creatures  I  never  met  at  once,  and  we  got  a-going  at  such  a 
rate  that  though  I  had  never  seen  either  of  them  before,  I 
stayed  nearly  three  hours  !  I  mean  to  have  another  dose  of 
them  before  long,  and  give  them  another  dose  of  E.  P.  I  have 
been  reading  a  book  called  "  The  Presence  of  Christ  "  ^ — which 
I  liked  so  well  that  1  got  a  copy  to  lend.  It  is  not  a  great 
book,  but  I  think  it  will  be  a  useful  one.  It  says  we  are  all 
idolaters,  and  reminds  me  of  my  besetting  sins  in  that  direction. 
I  feel  overwhelmed  when  I  think  how  many  young  people  are 
looking  to  me  for  light  and  help,  knowing  how  much  I  need 

both    myself Every   now    and    then    some    Providential 

event  occurs  that  wakes  us  up,  and  we  find  that  we  have  been 
asleep  and  dreaming,  and  that  what  we  have  been  doing  that 
made  us  fancy  ourselves  awake,  was  mechanical. 

I  must  be  off  now  to  my  sewing  society,  which  is  a  great 
farce,  since  I  can  earn  thirty  or  forty  times  as  much  with  my 
pen  as  I  can  with  my  needle,  and  if  they  would  let  me  stay  at 
home  and  write,  I  would  give  them  the  results  of  my  morning's 
work.     But  the  minute  I  stop  going  everybody  else  stops. 

How  I  should  love  to  spend  this  evening  with  you  !     This 

To  Mrs.    has  been  our  Communion  Sunday,  and  I  am  sure  the 

ApHi%'    service  would  have  been  very  soothing  to  your  poor, 

1^72.      sore  heart.     And  yet  why  do  I  say  poor  when  I  know 

it  is  I'ich?     Oh,  you  might  have  the  same  sorrow  without  faith 

and  patience  with  which  to   bear  it,  and  think  how  dread!  ul 

that  would  be  !     Your  little  lamb  has  been  spending  his  first 

1  The  Presence  of  Christ.     Lectures  on  the  XXIIL  Psalm.     By  Anthony  W.  ThorolcJ, 
Lord  Bishop  of  Rochester.     A.  D.  F.  Randolph  &  Co. 


THE   TRIAL   OF    FAITIT.  389 

Sunday  with  the  Good  Shepherd  and  other  lambs  of  the  flock, 
and  has  been  as  happy  as  the  day  is  long.  Perhaps  your  two 
children  and  mine  are  claiming  kinship  together.  If  they  met 
in  a  foreign  land  they  would  surely  claim  it  for  our  sakes  ;  wliy 
not  in  the  land  that  is  not  foreign,  and  not  far  off?  Hut  still 
these  are  not  the  thoughts  to  bring  you  special  comfort.  "Tliv 
will  be  done  !"  does  the  whole.  And  yet  my  heart  aclies  for 
you.  Some  one,  who  had  never  had  a  real  soirow,  told  Mrs.  N. 
that  if  she  submitted  to  God's  will  as  she  ought,  she  would 
Lease  to  suffer.  What  a  fallacy  this  is  !  Mrs  N.  was  com- 
forted by  hearing  that  your  little  one  was  taken  away  by  the 
consequences  of  the  fever,  as  her  Nettie  was,  for  she  had 
reproached  herself  with  havinpc  neglected  her  to  see  to  Johnny 
who  died  first,  and  thought  this  neglect  had  allowed  her  to 
take  cold.  I  feel  very  sorry  when  mothers  torture  themselves 
in  this  needless  way,  as  if  God  could  not  avert  ill  consecpiences. 
if  He  chose. 

I  have  shed  more  than  one  tear  to-day.  I  heard  last  night 
that  my  dearly-loved  brother,  Prof.  Hopkins,  is  on  his  dying- 
bed.  I  never  thought  of  his  dying,  he  comes  of  such  a  long- 
lived  race.  I  expect  to  go  to  see  him,  and  if  I  find  I  can  be  of 
any  use  or  comfort,  stay  a  week  or  two.  His  death  will  come 
very  near  to  me,  but  he  is  a  saintly  man,  and  I  am  glad  for 
him  that  he  can  go.  How  thankful  we  shall  be  when  our  turn 
comes  !  The  ladies  at  our  little  meeting  were  deeply  interested 
in  what  I  had  to  tell  them  about  your  dear  boy,  and  prayed  for 
you  with  much  feeling.  May  our  dear  Lord  bless  you  abun- 
dantly with  His  sweet  presence  !  I  know  He  will.  And  yet  He 
})as  willed  it  that  you  should  suffer.  "Himself  hath  done  it  !  " 
Oh  how  glad  He  will  be  when  the  disjicnsation  of  suffering  is 
over,  and  He  can  gather  His  beloved  round  Him,  tearless,  free 
from  sorrow  and  care,  and  all  forever  at  rest. 

May  ^f/i. — Yesterday,  the  friend  at  East  Dorset  whose  tin  re 
children  died  within  a  few  weeks  of  each  cUlier  sent  're  sonn* 
Vciscs   of  which  I  copy  one  for  you  : 

"  The  eye  of  faith  beholds 

A  golden  stair,  like  that  of  old,  whereon 
Fair  spirits  go  and  come  ; 
God's  angels  coming  down  on  errands  sweet, 
Our  angels  going  home." 


390  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.  PRENTISS. 

I  hope  this  golden  stair,  up  which  your  dear  boy  climbed 
"with  shout  and  song,"  is  covered  with  God's  angels  coming 
down  to  bless  and  comfort  you.  One  of  the  most  touching  pas- 
sages in  the  Bible,  to  my  mind,  is  that  which  describes  angels 
as  coming  to  minister  to  Jesus  after  His  temptations  in  the  wil- 
derness. It  gives  one  such  an  idea  of  His  helplessness  !  Just  as 
I  was  gomg  out  to  church  this  morning,  Mr.  Prentiss  told  me 
of  the  death  of  a  charming  ''baby-boy,"  one  of  our  lambs,  and 
I  could  scarcely  help  bursting  into  tears,  though  I  had  only 
seen  him  once.  You  can  hardly  understand  how  I  feel,  as  a 
pastor's  wife,  toward  our  people.  Their  sorrows  come  right 
home.  I  have  a  friend  also  hanging  in  agonizing  suspense  over 
a  little  one  who  has  been  injured  by  a  fall  ;  she  is  sweetly  sub- 
missive, but  you  know  what  a  mother's  heart  is.  I  have  yet 
another  friend,  who  has  had  to  give  up  her  baby.  She  is  a 
young  mother,  and  far  from  her  family,  but  says  she  has  "  per- 
fect peace."  So  from  all  sides  I  hear  sorrowful  sounds,  but  so 
much  faith  and  obedience  mingled  with  the  sighs,  that  I  can 
only  wonder  at  what  God  can  do. 

How  true  and  how  strange  it  is  that  our  deepest  sorrows 

^^  spring  from  our  sweetest  affections  ;  that  as  we  love 

Miss  Morse,  much,  we  Suffer  much.     What  instruments  of  torture 

May  7,  1S72.  -  ,       _,,  .        i, 

our  hearts  are  !  The  passage  you  quote  is  all  true, 
but  people  are  apt  to  be  impatient  in  affliction,  eager  to  drink 
the  bitter  cup  at  a  draught  rather  than  drop  by  drop,  and  fain  to 
dig  up  the  seed  as  soon  as  it  is  planted,  to  see  if  it  has  germi- 
nated. I  am  fond  of  quoting  that  passage  about  "  the  peace- 
able fruit  of  righteousness  "  coming  "  afterward." 

I  have  just  come  from  the  funeral  of  a  little  "Wee  Davie  "; 
all  the  crosses  around  his  coffin  were  tiny  ones,  and  he  had  a 
small  floral  harp  in  his  hand,  I  thought  as  I  looked  upon  his 
face,  still  beautiful,  though  worn,  that  even  babies  have  to  be 
introduced  to  the  cross,  for  he  had  a  week  of  fearful  struggle 

before  he  was  released I  enclose  an  extract  I  made  for 

you  from  a  work  on  the  baptism  of  the  Holy  Spirit.  This  was 
all  the  paper  I  had  at  hand  at  the  moment.  The  recipe  for 
"curry"  I  have  copied  into  my  recipe-book,  and  the  two  lines 
at  the  top  of  the  page  I  addressed  to  M.  A  queer  mixture  of 
the  spiritual  and  the  practical,  but  no  stranger  than  life's  mix- 
ture's always  are. 


THE   TRIAL   OF   FAITH.  39 1 

As  to  assurance  of  faith,  I  think  we  may  all  have  that,  and  ir. 

my  own  darkest  hours  this   faith  has  not  been  dis- 
To  a 
yoimg       turbed.     I  have  just  come  home  from  a  brief  visit  to 

%C!v^York     ^^^ss '  with  whom  I  had  some  interesting  disc  js- 

Mavzotli,    sions.     I  use  the  word  discussions  advisedly,   for  wo 
1S72.  -^ 

love  each  other  in  constant  disagreement.  She  be- 
lieves in  holiness  by  faith,  while  denying  that  she  has  herself 
attained  it.  I  think  her  life,  as  far  as  I  can  see  it,  very  true  and 
beautiful.  We  spent  a  whole  evening  talking  about  temptation. 
Not  long  ago  I  met  wdth  a  passage,  in  French,  to  this  effect — I 
quote  from  memory  only  :  "God  has  some  souls  whom  He  can 
not  afflict  in  any  ordinary  way,  for  they  love  Flim  so  that  they 
are  ready  for  any  outward  sorrow  or  bereavement.  He  there- 
fore scourges  them  with  inward  trials,  vastly  more  painful 
than  any  outward  tribulation  could  be  ;  thus  crucifying  them 
to  self."  I  can  not  but  think  that  this  explains  Mrs. 's  ex- 
perience, and  perhaps  my  own  ;  at  any  rate  I  feel  that  we  arc 
all  in  the  hands  of  an  unerring  Physician,  who  will  bring  us, 
through  varying  paths,  home  to  Himself. 

I  had  a  call  the  other  day  from  an  intelligent  Christian 
woman,  w^hom  I  had  not  seen  for  eighteen  years.  She  said  that 
some  time  ago  her  attention  was  called  to  the  subject  of  per- 
sonal holiness,  and  as  she  is  a  great  reader,  she  devoured  every- 
thing she  could  get  hold  of,  and  finally  became  a  dogmatic 
perfectionist.  But  experience  modified  these  views,  and  she 
fell  back  on  the  Bible  doctrine  of  an  indwelling  Christ,  with 
the  conviction  that  just  in  proportion  to  this  indwelling  will  l)e 
the  holiness  of  the  soul.  This  is  precisely  my  own  belief.  This 
is  the  doctrine  I  preached  in  Stepping  Heavenward  and  I  have 
so  far  seen  nothing  to  change  these  views,  while  I  desire  and 
pray  to  be  taught  any  other  truth  if  I  am  wrong.  I  believe 
God  does  reveal  Himself  and  His  truth  to  those  who  are  w  ill- 
ing  to  know  it. 

I  got  home    yesterday  from  Wil  iamstown,  where   I  went, 

jP^  with  my  husband,  to  attend  the  funeral  of  my  dearly 

\ftss  Morse,  beloved   brother,   Profcsscr    Hopkins.      He   literally 

'if ay  2^,'    starved  to  death.      He  died  as  he  had   lived,  beauti- 

^^''^'         fully,  thinking  of  and  sending  messages  to    all  his 


392  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

friends,  and  on  his  last  day  repeating  passages  of  Scripture 
and  even,  weak  as  he  was,  joining  in  hymns  sung  at  his  bedside. 
The  day  of  the  funeral  was  a  pretty  trying  one  for  me,  as  there 
was  not  only  his  loss  to  mourn,  but  there  were  traces  of  my  dar 
ling  mother  and  sister,  who  both  died  in  that  house,  all  over  it ; 
some  of  my  mother's  silver,  a  white  quilt  she  made  when  a  girl, 
my  sister's  library,  her  collection  of  shells  and  minerals,  her 
paintings,  her  little  conservatory,  the  portrait  of  her  only  child, 
dressed  in  his  uniform  (he  was  killed  in  one  of  the  battles  of 
the  Wilderness).  Then,  owing  to  the  rain,  none  of  us  ladies 
were  allowed  to  go  into  the  cemetery,  and  I  had  thought  much 
of  visiting  my  sister's  grave  and  seeing  her  boy  lying  on  one 
side  and  her  husband  on  the  other.  But  our  disappointments 
are  as  carefully  planned  for  us  as  our  sorrows,  so  I  have  not  a 
word  to  say. 

After  services  at  the  house,  we  w^alked  to  the  church,  which 
we  entered  through  a  double  iile  of  uncovered  students.  One 
of  the  most  touching  things  about  the  service  was  the  sight  of 
four  students  standing  in  charge  of  the  remains,  two  at  the 
head  and  two  at  the  foot  of  the  coffin.  His  poor  folks  came  in 
crowds,  w^ith  their  hands  full  of  flowers  to  be  cast  into  his  grave. 
My  brother  said  he  never  saw  so  many  men  shed  tears  at  a 
funeral,  and  I  am  sure  I  never  did  ;  some  sobbing  as  convul- 
sively as  womeru  I  could  not  help  asking  myself  when  my  heart 
was  swelling  so  with  pain,  v/hether  love  paid.  Love  is  sweet 
when  all  goes  well,  but  oh  how  fearfully  exacting  it  is  when 
separation  comes  !  How  many  tithes  it  takes  of  all  we  have 
and  are  ! 

A  worthy  young  woman  in  our  church  has  been  driven  into 
hysterics  by  reading  "Holiness  through  Faith."  I  went  to  see 
her  as  soon  as  I  got  home  from  W.  yesterday,  but  she  was 
asleep  under  the  influence  of  an  opiate.  There  is  no  doubt 
that  too  much  self-scrutiny  is  pernicious,  especially  to  weak- 
minded,  ignorant  young  people.  It  was  said  of  Prof.  Hopkins 
that  he  would  have  been  a  mystic  but  for  his  love  to  souls,  and 
I  am  afraid  these  new  doctrines  tend  too  much  to  the  seek- 
ing for  peace  and  joy,  too  little  to  seeking  the  salvation  of  the 
careless  and  worldly.  But  I  hesitate  to  criticise  any  class  of 
good  people,  feeling  that  those  who  live  in  most  habitual  com- 


THE   TRIAL   OF   FAITH. 


393 


munion  with  God  receive  light  directly  and  constantly  from  on 
high  ;  and  of  thart  communion  we  can  not  seek  too  much/ 

'  Albert  Hopkins  was  bom  in  Stockbrid^e,  Mass.,  July  14,  1S07.  He  was  j^raduatecl  at 
Williams  College  in  the  class  of  1826,  and  three  years  later  became  Professor  of  Mathe- 
matics and  Natural  Philosophy  in  the  same  institution.  Astronomy  was  afterward  added 
to  his  chair.  In  1834  he  went  abroad.  In  the  summer  of  1835  he  organised  and  con- 
ducted a  Natural  History  expedition  to  Nova  Scotia,  the  first  expedition  of  the  kind  in 
this  country.  Two  years  later  he  built  at  his  own  expense,  and  in  part  by  the  labor  of 
his  own  hands,  the  astronomical  observatory  at  Williamstown.  In  this  also,  it  is  said,  in 
advance  of  all  others  erected  exclusively  for  purposes  of  instruction.  He  was  a  devoted 
and  profound  student,  as  well  as  an  accomplished  teacher,  of  natural  science.  But  he  was 
still  more  distinguished  for  his  piety  and  his  religious  influence  in  the  college.  Hun- 
dreds of  students  in  successive  classes  learned  to  love  and  revere  him  as  a  holy  man  of 
God — many  of  them  as  their  spiritual  father.  The  history  of  American  colleges  affords 
probably  no  instance  of  a  happier,  or  more  remarkable,  union  of  true  science  with  that 
personal  holiness  and  zeal  for  God,  by  which  hearts  are  won  for  Christ.  Full  of  faith  and 
of  the  Holy  Ghost,  he  did  the  work  of  an  evangelist  for  more  than  forty  years — not  in 
the  college  only,  but  all  over  the  town.  During  the  last  six  years  of  his  life  he  devoted 
himself  especially  to  the  Wliite  Oaks— a  district  in  the  north-east  part  of  Williamstown— 
which  liad  long  before  excited  his  sympathy  on  account  of  the  poverty,  \n>e,  and  degrada- 
tion which  marked  the  neighborhood.  He  identified  himself  with  the  population  by  buy- 
ing and  canying  on  a  small  farm  among  them.  He  also  established  a  Sunday-school, 
and  then  he  built  with  the  aid  of  friends  a  tasteful  chapel,  which  was  dedicated  in  Octo- 
ber, 1866.  Later  "the  Church  of  Christ  in  the  White  Oaks"  was  organised,  and  here,  as 
his  failing  strength  allowed,  he  preached  and  labored  the  rest  of  his  days. 

Prof.  Hopkins  was  an  enthusiastic  lover  of  nature.  A  few  years  before  his  dfiath  he 
organised  a  society  called  "  Tlie  Alpine  Club,"  composed  chieHy  of  young  ladies,  with 
whom,  as  their  chosen  leader,  he  made  excursions  summer  after  summer — camping  out  often 
among  tiie  hills.  He  took  them  to  many  a  picturesque  nook  and  retreat,  of  which  they 
had  never  heard,  in  the  mountains  near  by.  He  also  explored  with  them  other  interest- 
ing and  remoter  portions  of  northern  Berksliire,  and  interpreted  to  them  on  the  spot  llie 
thoughts  of  God,  as  they  appeared  in  the  infinitely  varied  and  beautiful  details  of  Hi« 
works.  In  these  excursions  he  seemed  as  young  as  any  of  his  young  comjxinions,  with 
feelings  as  fresh  and  joyous  as  tlieirs.  In  earlier  years  he  was  a  very  grave  man,  with 
something  of  the  old  Puritan  sternness  in  his  looks  and  ways,  and  he  bore  still  the  aspect 
of  a  //07JIO  gravis  ;  but  liis  gentleness,  his  tender  devotion  to  the  gay  young  companions 
who  surrounded  him,  and  the  almost  boyish  delight  with  which  he  siiared  in  their  pleas- 
ures, took  away  all  its  sternness  and  lighted  up  his  strongly-marked  countenance  with 
singular  grace  and  beauty.  In  these  closing  years  of  his  life  he  was,  indeed,  the  ideal  of 
a  ripe  and  noble  Cliristian  manhood.  His  name  is  embalmed  in  the  mcmor>-  of  a  great 
company  of  his  old  pupils,  now  scattered  far  and  wide,  from  the  WHiitc  House  at  Wa«lv« 
ington  to  the  remotest  corners  of  the  earth. 

P.S. — This  was  written  soon  after  the  inauguration  of  Gen.  Garfield,  to  whom  alUision 
is  made.  His  high  regard  for  the  venei-able  ex-President  of  Williams  College — the  Rev. 
Dr.  Mark  Hnpkinr, — he  made  known  to  the  whole  country,  but  the  younger  brother  was 
also  the  object  of  his  warmest  esteem  and  love,  and  the  feeling  was  heartily  reciprocated. 
Nearly  a  score  of  years  ago,  wlien  he  was  just  emerging  into  public  notice  from  the 
bloody  field  of  Chickamauga,  Prof.  Hopkins  sjxjke  of  him  to  the  writer  in  tcrm«  so  full 
of  praise  and  so  projihetic  of  his  future  career,  that  they  seem  in  jwrfcct  harmonj-  with 
the  sentiment  at  once  of  admiration  and  poignant  grief  which  to-<lay  moves  tlie  heart  ol 
the  whole  American  fjeople — yea,  one  might  almost  say,  which  is  inspiring  all  Christen' 
dom.—Saturday,  Sept  24,  tS^t. 


394  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.   PRENTISS. 

IV. 

Christian  Parents  to  expect  Piety  in  their  Children.  Perfection.  *'  People  make  toi 
much  Parade  of  their  Troubles."  "  Higher  Life  "  Doctrines.  Letter  to  Mrs.  Wash* 
burn.     Last  Visit  to  Williamstown. 

Early  in  June  she  went  to  Dorset.  The  summer,  like  that 
of  1871,  was  shadowed  by  anxiety  and  inward  conflict;  but 
her  care-worn  thoughts  were  greatly  soothed  by  her  rural  occu- 
pations, by  visits  from  young  friends,  and  by  the  ever  fresh 
charms  of  nature  around  her. 

I  was  obliged  to  give  up  my  much-desired  visit  to  you.     We 

^  went  on  to  the  funeral  of  Prof.  Hopkins,  and  that  took 

To  a  t^  } 

Christian  three  days  out  of  the  busy  time  just  before  coming  here. 
Dorset]    ^  particularly  wanted  you  to  know  at  the  time  that  my 
y?^«^9,    three  younger  children  united  with  the  church  on  Sun- 
day last,  but  had  not  a  moment  in  which  to  write  you. 
It  was  a  touching  sight  to  our  people.     Mr.  P.  looked  down  on 
his  children  so  lovingly,  and  kissed  them  when  the  covenant 

had  been  read.     He  said 's  face  was  so  full  of  soul  that  he 

could  not  help  it,  and  his  heart  yearned  over  them  all.  Some 
one  said  there  was  not  a  dry  eye  in  the  house.  I  felt  not  elated, 
not  cast  down,  but  at  peace.  I  think  it  plain  that  Christian 
parents  are  to  expect  piety  in  their  children,  and  expect  it  early. 
In  mine  it  is  indeed  "  first  the  blade,"  and  they  will,  no  doubt, 
have  their  trials  and  temptations.  But  it  seems  to  me  I  must 
leave  them  in  God's  hands  and  let  Him  lead  them  as  He  will. 
It  was  very  sweet  to  have  the  elements  passed  to  me  by  their 
young  hands.  Offer  one  earnest  prayer  for  them  at  least,  that 
they  may  prove  true  soldiers  and  servants  of  Jesus  Christ.  No 
doubt  your  two  little  sainted  ones  looked  on  and  loved  the  chil- 
dren of  their  mother's  friend. 

The  following  testimony  of  one  of  President  Garfield's  classmater  and  intimate  friends 
may  fitly  be  added  here  : 

"  For  him  there  was  but  one  Mark  Hopkins  in  all  the  world,  but  for  Professor  Albert 
Hopkins  also,  or  '  Prof.  Al.,'  as  he  was  called  in  those  days,  the  General — not  only  while  at 
college,  but  aU  through  life — entertained  the  highest  regard  both  as  a  man  and  a  scholar. 
His  intellectual  attainments  were  thought  by  Gen.  G.  to  be  of  an  unusually  fine  order, 
rivalling  those  of  his  brother,  and  often  eliciting  the  admiration  not  only  of  himself,  but 
of  all  the  other  students.  In  speaking  of  his  Williamstown  life,  Gen.  Garfield  always  re- 
ferred to  Prof.  Hopkins  in  the  most  affectionate  manner  ;  and,  both  from  his  own  states 
ments  and  my  personal  observation,  I  know  that  their  mutual  college  relations  were  of 
the  pleasantest  nature  possible." 


THE   TRIAL   OF   FAITH.  395 

On   the  subject  of  perfection,  you  say  I  am  lookinti;  for  an 
gelic  perfection.     I  see   no  difference   in   kind.     Perfection   is 
perfection  to  my  mind,  and  I  have  always  thought  it  a  danger- 
ous thing  for  a  soul   to  fancy  it  had  attained  it.     Yet,  in  her 

last  letters  to  me,  JNIiss virtually  professes  to  have  become 

free  from  sin.  She  says  self  and  sin  are  the  same  thing,  and 
tiiat  she  is  entirely  dead  to  self.  What  is  this  but  complete 
sanctification  ?  What  can  an  angel  say  more?  I  feel  painfully 
bewildered   amid   conflicting  testimonies,  and  sometimes  long 

to  flee  away  from  everybody.     Miss 's  last  letter  saddened 

me,  I  will  own.  You  say,  "  I  am  in  danger  of  becoming  mor- 
bid, or  stupid,  or  wild,  or  something  I  ought  not."  Why  in 
danger  ?  According  to  your  own  doctrine  you  are  safe  ;  being 
''entirely  sanctified  from  moment  to  moment."  At  any  rate  I 
can  say  nothing  "to  quicken"  you,  for  I  am  morbid  and  stu- 
pid, though  just  now  not  wild.  Those  sharp  temptations  have 
ceased,  though  perhaps  only  for  a  season  ;  but  I  have  been 
physically  weakened  by  them,  and  have  got  to  take  care  of  my- 
i  elf,  go  to  bed  early,  and  vegetate  all  I  can — and  this  when  I 
ought  to  be  hard  at  work  ministering  to  other  souls.  The  fact 
is,  I  don't  know  anything  and  don't  do  anything,  but  just  get 
through   the   day  somehow,  wondering  what   all   this   strange, 

unfamiliar  state  of  things  will  end  in.     Poor  M has  gone 

crazy  on  "Holiness  through  Faith,"  and  will  probably  have  to 

go   to   an  asylum Our  little   home   looks  and   is  very 

pleasant.  I  take  some  comfort  in  it,  and  try  to  realise  tlio 
goodness  that  gives  me  such  a  luxury.  But  a  soul  that  has 
known  what  it  is  to  live  to  Christ  can  ho.  happy  o\\\^-  in  Ilim. 
May  He  be  all  in  all  to  you,  and  consciously  so  to  me  in  His 
own  good  time. 

I  wish  you  could  come  and  take  a  look  at  us  this  cjuiet  afler- 
To  Miss  rioon.  Not  a  soul  is  to  be  seen  or  heard  ;  the  mount- 
Woolsey,   ains  are  covered  with  the  soft  liaze  that  savs  the  dav 

Dorset^      .  .  '         ,  ' 

y«;/<T23,  IS  warm  but  not  oppressive,  and  here  and  there  a 
^^7^-  brilliantly  colored  bird  flies  by,  setting  "Twcedle 
l)um,"  our  taciturn  canary,  into  tune.  M.  and  I  have  driven 
at  our  out-door  work  like  a  pair  of  steam-engines,  and  you  can 
imagine  how  dignified  I  am  from  the  fact  that  an  old  fuddy- 
duddy  who  does  occasional  jobs  for  me,  summons  me  to  my 


39^  THE    LIFE    OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

window  by  a  "  Hullo  '  "  beneath  it,  while  G.  says  to  us,  "Where 
are  you  girls  going  to  sit  this  afternoon  ? " 

Your  sister's  allusion  to  Watts  and  Select  Hymns  reminds 
me  of  ages  long  past,  when  I  used  to  sing  the  whole  book 
through  as  I  marched  night  after  night  through  my  room, 
carrying  a  colicky  baby  up  and  down  for  fifteen  months,  till  I 
became  a  living  skeleton.  We  do  contrive  to  live  through 
queer  experiences. 

The  lines  you  kindly  copied  for  me  have  the  ring  of  the  true 

To  a      "^^^^1  ^"d  I  like  them  exceedingly.     People  make  too 

yotmg     much  parade  of  their  troubles  and  too  much  fuss  about 

Vorset]    them  ;  the  fact  is  we  are  all  born  to  tribulation,  as  we 

"^18^2.^'     ^^^°  ^^^  '^  innumerable  joys,  and   there  is  no  sense  in 

being  too  much  depressed  or  elated  by  either.     "The 

saddest  birds  a  season  find  to  sing."     Few  if  any  lives  flow  in 

unmingled    currents.      As   to   myself,   my  rural    tastes   are   so 

strong,  and  I  have  so  much  to  absorb  and  gratify  me,  that  I 

need  a  mixture  of  experience.     Two  roses  that  bloomed  in  my 

garden  this  morning,  made  my  heart  leap  with  delight,  and 

when  I  get  off  in  the  w^oods  with  I\I.,  and  we  collect  mosses  and 

ferns  and  scarlet  berries,  I  am  conscious  of  great  enjoyment  in 

them.     At  the  same  time,  if  I  thought  it  best  to  tell  the  other 

side  of  the  story,  I  should  want  some  very  black  ink  with  which 

to  do  it.    We  must  take  life  as  God  gives  it  to  us,  without  mur- 

murings  and  disputings,  and  with  the  checks   on  our  natural 

eagerness  that  keeps  us  mindful  of  Kim. 

You  speak  of  the  "  Higher  Life  people."  I  still  hold  m/ 
judgment  in  suspense  in  regard  to  their  doctrines,  reading 
pretty  much  all  they  send  me,  and  asking  daily  for  light  from 
on  high.  I  have  had  some  talks  this  summer  with  Dr.  Stearns 
on  these  subjects,  and  he  urges  me  to  keep  where  I  am,  but  . 
try  not  to  be  too  much  influenced  for  or  against  doctrines  I  do 
not,  by  experience,  understand.  Let  us  do  the  will  of  God  (and 
suffer  it)  and  we  shall  learn  of  the  doctrine. 

I  have  done  nothing  but  tear  my  hair  ever  since  you  left. 

To  Mrs.    to  think  I  let  you  go.     It  would  have  been  so  easy  to 

^KaS!}eil]  ^^"^^  y^^  ^^  Manchester  to-morrow  morning,  after  a 

Friday  '  night  here,  and  an  evening  over  our  little  wood-fire, 

F.veiLLiir^    ,  '^  ' 

\September,  but  we  Were  SO  glad  to  see  you  both,  so  bewildered  by 
1S72J.     y^^m-  sudden  appearance,  that  neither  of  us  thought  ol 


THE   TRIAL  OF   FAITH.  397 

It  till  you  were  gone.     And  now  you  are  still  within  reach   and 
we  want  you  to  reconsider  your  resolution  to  turn  your  backs 
upon  us  after  such  a  long,  fatiguing  journey,  and  eating  no  salt 
with  us.     I  did  not  urge  your  staying  because  I  do  so  hate  to 
be  urged  myself.     But  I  want  you  to  feel  what  a  great  pleasure 
it  would  be  to  us  if  you  could  make  up  your  minds  to  stay  at 
least  over  Sunday,  or  if  to-morrow  and  Sunday  are  unpleasant, 
just  a  day  or  two  more,  to  take  our  favorite  drives  with  us,  and 
give  us  v/hat  you  may  never  have  a  chance  to  give  us  again.     I 
declare  I  shall  think  you  are  crazy,  if  you  don't  stay  a  few  days, 
now  that  you  arc  here.     We  have  been  longing  to  have  you 
come,  and  only  waiting  for  our  place  to  be  a  little  ".ess  naked 
in  order  to  lay  violent  hands  on  you  ;  but  now  you  have  seen 
the  nakedness  of  the  land,  we  don't  care,  but  want  you  to  see 
more  of  it.     This  is  the  time,  and  exactly  the  time,  when  we  have 
nothing  to  do  but  to  enjoy  our  visitors,  and  next  year  the  house 
may  be  running  over.     And  if  you  don't  come  now,  you'll  have 
the  plague  of  having  to  come  some  other  time,  and  it  is  a  long, 
formidable  journey. 

Why  didnt  we  just  take  and  lock  you  up  when  we  had  hold 
of  you  !     Well,  now  I've  torn  out  all  my  hair,  and  people  will 
be  saying,  "  Go  up,  thou  bald-head."     Besides— you  left  them 
bunch-berries  !  and  do  you  suppose  you  can  go  home  without 
them  ?     Why,  it  wouldn't  be  safe.     You  would  be  run  off  the 
track,  and   scalded   by  steam,   and  broken   all   to   pieces,  and 
caught  on  the  cow-catcher,  and  get  lost,  and  be  run  away  with, 
and  even  struck  by  lightning,  I  shoulin  t  wonder.    And  now  if 
you  go  in  to-morrow's  train  you'll  catch  the  small-pox  and  the 
measles  and  the  scarlet  fever  and  the  yellow  fever,  and  all  the 
colors-in-the-rainbow  fever,  and   go   into   a  consumption    and 
have  the  pleurisy,  and  the  jaundice  and  the  tooth-ache  and  the 
headache,  and,  above  all,  the  conscience-ache.     And  you  never 
•  ate  any  of  our  corn  or  our  beans  !     You  never  so  much  as  asked 
the  receipt  for  our  ironclads  !    You  haven't  seen  our  cow.    You 
haven't  been  down  cellar.     You  haven't  fished  in  our  brook. 
You   haven't  been   here  at  all,  now  I  come  to  think  of  it.     I 
dreamed  you  flew  through,  but  it  was  nothing  but  a  dream. 
And  the  houses  have  a  habit  of  burning  down,  and  ours  is  go- 
ing to  do  as  the  rest  do,  and  then  how'll  you  feel  in  your  minds  r 
And  when  folks  set  themselves  up  against  us,  and  won't  let  us 
have  our  own  way,  why  then  "  I  tell  my  daughter 


39^  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.   PRENTISS. 

What  makes  folks  do  as  they'd  oughter  not, 
And  why  dont  they  do  as  they'd  oughter  ?  " 

And  we  all  pine  away  and  die  like  the  babes  in  the  woods 
and  nobody's  left  to  cover  us  up  with  leaves.     Send  all   these 
arguments  home  by  telegram,  and  your  folks  will  shoot  you  if 
you  dare  to  go.     I  could  write  another  sheet  if  it  would  do  any 
good.     Now  do  lay  my  words  to  heart,  and  come  right  back. 
I  sent  home  my  servants  a  month  ago,  and  they  have  been 
To  Miss     ^^"^"^  t^e  parsonage  to  rights,  while  I  have  in  their 
Do^"e7%      P^^^^^   ^^^^  ^^^^  ^^^  ^^^^^  ^^^o  c^"^e  to  live  with  me 
'''i,%2.'  twenty  years  ago.     One  stayed  ten   years  and  then 
got  married,  the  other  I  parted  with  when  my  chil- 
dren died  because  I  did  not  need  her.    It  has  been  a  green  spot 
in  the  summer  to  have  these  affectionate,  devoted  creatures  in 
the  house.     We  have  had  only  one  slight  frost,  but  the  woods 
have  been  gradually  changing,  and  are  in  spots  very  beautiful. 
We  (you  know  what  that  word  means)  have  been  off  gathering 
bright  leaves  for  ourselves  and  the  servants,  who  care  for  pretty 
things  just  as  we  do.    Yet  not  a  flower  has  gone  ;  we  have  had 
a  host  of  verbenas  and  gladioli,  some  Japanese  lilies,  and  so 
on,  and  have  been  able  to  give  some  pleasure  to  those  who 
have  not  time  to  cultivate  them  for  themselves.     It  has  been  a 
dreadful  season  for  sickness  here,  and  flowers  have  been  wanted 
in  many  a  sick-room,  and  at  some  funerals. 

Since  I  wrote  you  last  ''  we  "  have  been  to  Williamstown. 
I  wanted  to  get  possession  of  my  sister's  private  papers. 
Everything  passed  off  nicely  ;  I  burned  a  large  amount  and 
brought  away  a  trunk  full,  a  part  of  which  I  have  been 
reading  with  deep  interest.  Her  journals  date  back  to  the  age 
of  fifteen,  though  to  read  the  early  ones  you  would  never  dream 
of  her  being  less  than  twenty  or  thirty.  She  was  a  wonderful 
woman,  and  as  I  found  such  ample  material  for  a  memorial  of 
her  life,  I  felt  half  tempted  to  carry  out  her  husband's  wishe? 
and  complete  one.  But  on  the  whole  I  do  not  think  I  shall. 
You  can  imagine  how  my  soul  has  been  stirred  by  the  whole 
thing;  the  farewell  to  the  familiar  objects  of  my  childhood, 
the  sense  of  a  new  race  taking  possession  of  her  conservatory' 
her  shells,  her  minerals,  her  pictures,  her  German,  French, 
Italian,  Spanish,  Latin,  Hebrew  and  Greek  library— dear  me  ! 
but  I  need  not  enlarge  on  it  to  you.  And  how  stupid  it  is  not 
to  forget  it  all  alongside  of  her  ten  years  in  heaven  ! 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

PEACEABLE   FRUIT. 
1873-1874. 

I. 

Effect  of  spiritual  Conflict  upon  her  religious  Life.  Overflowing  Affections.  Her  Hus- 
band called  to  Union  Theological  Seminary.  Baptism  of  Suffering.  The  Charac- 
ter of  her  Friendships.  No  perfect  Life.  Prayer.  "Only  God  can  satisfy  a 
Woman."     Why  human  Friendship  is  a  Snare.     Letters. 

The  troubk  which  had  so  long  weighed  upon  her  heart, 
crossed  with  her  the  threshold  of  1873,  but  long  before  tlic 
close  of  the  year  it  had  in  large  measure  passed  away.  Sucli 
suffering,  however,  always  leaves  its  marks  behind  ;  and 
when  complicated  with  ill-health  or  bodily  weakness,  often 
lingers  on  after  its  main  cause  has  been  removed.  It  was  so 
in  her  case ;  she  was,  perhaps,  never  again  conscious  of  that 
constant  spiritual  delight  which  she  had  once  enjoyed.  But 
if  less  full  of  sunshine,  her  religious  life  was  all  the  time  growing 
deeper  and  more  fruitful,  was  centering  itself  more  entirely  in 
Christ  and  rising  faster  heavenward.  Its  sympathies  also 
became,  if  possible,  still  more  tender  and  loving.  Her  whole 
being,  indeed,  seemed  to  gather  new  light  and  sweetness  from 
the  sharp  discipline  she  had  been  passing  through.  Even 
when  most  tried  and  tempted,  as  has  been  said,  she  had  kept 
her  trouble  to  herself;  few  of  her  most  intimate  friends  knew 
of  its  existence  ;  to  the  world  she  appeared  a  little  more 
thoughtful  and  somewhat  careworn,  but  otherwise  as  bright 
as  ever.  But  now,  at  length,  the  old  vivacity  and  playfulness 
and  merry  laugh  began  to  come  back  again.  Never  did  her 
heart  glow  with  fresher,  more  ardent  affections.  In  a  letter 
to  a  young  cousin,  who  was  moving  about  from  place  to  place, 
she  says : 

(399) 


400  THE    LIFE   OF   MRS.    TRENTTSS. 

I  shall  feel  more  free  to  write  often,  if  you  can  tell  me  that 
the  postmaster  at  C.  forwards  your  letters  from  the  office  at  no 
expense  to  you,  as  he  ought  to  do.  It  is  very  silly  in  me  to 
mind  your  paying  three  cents  for  one  of  my  love-letters,  but 
it's  a  Payson  trait,  and  I  can't  help  it,  though  I  should  be  pro- 
voked enough  if  you  did  mind  paying  a  dollar  apiece  fof  them. 
There's  consistency  for  you  !  Well,  I  know,  and  I'm  awfully 
proud  of  it,  that  you'll  get  very  few  letters  from  as  loving  a 
fountain  as  my  heart  is.  I've  got  enough  to  drown  a  small 
army — and  sometimes  when  you're  homesick,  and  cousin-Lizzy- 
sick,  and  friend-sick,  I  shall  come  to  you,  done  up  in  a  sheet  of 
paper,  and  set  you  all  in  a  breeze. 

Her  letters  during  the  first  half  of  this  year  were  few,  and 
relate  chiefly  to  those  aspects  of  the  Christian  life  with  which 
her  own  experience  was  still  mak*ing  her  so  familiar.  '*  God's 
plan  with  most  of  us,"  she  wrote  to  Mrs.  Humphrey,  ''  appears 
to  be  a  design  to  make  us  flexible,  tw^istlng  us  this  way  and 
that,  now  giving,  now  taking  ;  but  always  at  work  for  and 
in  us.  Almost  every  friend  we  have  is  going  through  some 
peculiar  discipline.  I  fancy  there  is  no  period  in  our  history 
when  we  do  not  need  an.d  ^^/  the  sharp  rod  of  correction.  The 
thing  is  to  grow  strong  under  it,  and  yet  to  walk  softly."  ''  I 
do  not  care  how  much  I  suffer,"  she  wrote  to  a  friend,  "  if  God 
will  purge  and  purify  me  and  fit  me  for  greater  usefulness. 
What  are  trials  but  angels  to  beckon  us  nearer  to  Him  !  And 
I  do  hope  that  mine  are  to  be  a  blessing  to  some  other  soul, 
or  souls,  in  the  future.  I  can't  think  suffering  is  meant  to  be 
wasted,  if  fragments  of  bread  created  miraculously,  were  not." 
She  studied  about  this  time  with  great  interest  the  teaching 
of  Scripture  concerning  the  baptism  of  the  Holy  Ghost.  The 
work  of  the  Spirit  had  not  before  specially  occupied  hei 
thoughts.  In  her  earlier  writings  she  had  laid  but  little  stiess 
upon  it — not  because  she  doubted  its  reality  or  its  necessity, 
but  because  her  mind  had  not  been  led  in  that  direction. 
Stepping  Heavenward  is  full  of  God  and  of  Christ,  but 
there  is  in  it  little  express  mention  of  the  Spirit  and  His 
peculiar  ofifice  in  the  life  of  faith.  When  this  fact  was  brought 
to  her  notice  she  herself  appeared  to  be  surprised  at  it,  and 


PEACEABLE    FRUIT.  4OI 

would  gladly  have  supplied  the  omission.  To  be  sure,  there 
is  no  mention  at  all  of  the  Holy  Spirit  in  several  of  the  Epis- 
tles of  the  New  Testament ;  but  a  carefully-drawn  picture  of 
Christian  life  and  progress,  like  Stepping  Heavenward,  would, 
certainly,  have  been  rendered  more  complete  and  attractive 
by  fuller  reference  to  the  Blessed  Comforter  and  His  inspiring 
influences. 

I  feel  very  sorry  for  you  that  you  are  under  temptation.  I 
have  been  led,  for  some  time,  to  pray  specially  for 
young  the  tempted,  for  I  have  learned  to  pity  them  as 
New^York,  grater  sufferers  than  those  afflicted  in  any  other 
jait^  8,  way.  For,  in  proportion  to  our  love  to  Christ,  will 
be  the  agony  of  terror  lest  we  should  sin  and  fall, 
and  so  grieve  and  weary  Him.  "One  sinful  wish  could  make 
a  hell  of  heaven";  strong  language,  but  not  too  strong,  to  my 
mind,  I  can  only  say,  suffer,  but  do  not  yield.  Sometimes  I 
think  that  silent,  submissive  patience  is  better  than  struggle. 
It  is  sweet  to  be  in  the  sunshine  of  the  Master's  smile,  but  I  be- 
lieve our  souls  need  winter  as  well  as  summer,  night  as  well  as 
day.  Perhaps  not  to  the  end  ;  I  have  not  come  to  that  yet,  and 
so  do  not  know ;  I  speak  from  my  own  experience,  as  far  as  it 
goes.  Temptation  has  this  one  good  side  to  it  :  it  keeps  us 
doiun  ;  we  are  ashamed  of  ourselves,  we  see  we  have  nothing  to 
boast  of.  I  told  you,  you  will  perhaps  remember,  that  you  were 
going  to  enter  the  valley  of  humiliation  in  which  I  have  dwelt 
so  long,  but  I  trust  we  are  only  taking  it  in  our  way  to  the  land 
of  Beulah.  And  how  we  "  pant  to  be  there  "!  What  a  curious 
friendship  ours  has  been  !  and  it  is  one  that  can  never  sever — 
unless,  indeed,  we  fall  away  from  Christ,  which  may  He  in 
mercy  forbid  !  ....  I  do  pray  for  you  twice  every  day,  and 
hope  you  pray  for  me.  I  do  long  so  to  know  the  truth  and  to 
enter  into  it.  Certainly  I  have  got  some  new  light  during  the 
last  year,  in  the  midst  of  my  trials,  both  within  and  without. 

To  another  young  friend  she  writes  a  few  days  later: 

I  remember  when  I  was,  religiously,  at  your  age  I  was  long- 
ing for  holiness,  but  my  faith   staggered  at  some  of  the  con- 
ditions for  it.     I  had  no  conception,  much  as  Christ  was  to  me, 
what  He  was  guing  to  become.     But  I  wish  I  could  make  you 
26 


402  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

a  birth-day  present  of  my  experience  since  then,  and  you  could 
have  Him  now,  instead  of  learning,  as  I  had  to  learn  Him,  in 
much  tribulation. 

I  ha/e  been  meaning,  for  some  days,  to  write  you  about  the 
To  Professorship.'  It  is  a  new  one,  and  is  called  "the 
^^dic?^'  Skinner  and  McAlpine  "  chair,  and  Mr.  Prentiss  says 
7^'i-  15,  there  could  not  be  a  more  agreeable  field  of  useful- 
ness. It  is  most  likely  that  he  will  feel  it  to  be  his 
duty  to  accept.  A.s  to  myself,  I  am  about  apathetic  on  the  sub- 
ject. My  will  has  been  broken  over  the  Master's  knee,  if  I  may 
use  such  an  expression,  by  so  much  suffering,  that  I  look  with 
indifference  on  such  outward  changes.  We  can  be  made  will- 
ing to  be  burnt  alive,  if  need  be.  For  four  or  five  years  to  come 
I  shall  not  be  obliged  to  leave  the  church  I  love  so  dearly  ;  i^ 
the  Seminary  is  moved  out  to  Harlem,  it  will  be  different ;  bu 
it  is  not  worth  while  to  think  of  that  now.  It  seems  to  me  that 
Mr.  P.  has  reached  an  age  when,  never  being  very  strong,  a 
change  like  this  may  be  salutary.  February  3^. — You  will  be 
sorry  to  hear  that  dear  Mrs.  C.  is  quite  sick.  Her  daughters 
are  all  worn  out  with  the  care  of  her.  I  was  there  all  day  Sat- 
urday, but  I  can  do  nothing  in  the  way  of  night  watching  ;  nor 
much  at  any  time.  A  very  little  over-exertion  knocks  me  up 
this  winter.  It  is  just  as  much  as  I  can  do  to  keep  my  head 
above  water Sometimes  I  think  that  the  dreadful  ex- 
perience I  have  been  passing  through  is  God's  way  of  baptizing 
me  ;  some  have  to  be  baptized  with  suffering.  Certainly  He  has 
been  sitting  as  the  Refiner,  bringing  down  my  pride,  emptying 
me  of  this  and  that,  and  not  leaving  me  a  foot  to  stand  on.  If 
it  all  ends  in  sanctification  I  don't  care  what  I  suffer.  Though 
cast  down,  I  am  not  in  despair. 

It  is  an  encouragement  to  hear  Mahan  compare  states  of  the 
soul  to  house-cleaning  time."  It  is  just  so  with  me.  Every 
chair  and  table,  every  broom  and  brush  is  out  of  place,  topsy- 
turvy  But  I   can't  believe  God  has  been  wasting  the 

las*  two  years  on  me  ;  I  can't  help  hoping  that  He  is  answering 
m)  prayer,  m}-  cry  for  holiness — only  in  a  strange  way.  Dr, 
and  Mrs.  Abbot  spent  Sunday  and   Monday  with  us  a  week 

» In  Union  Theological  Seminary,  New  York. 

*lhe  Baptism  of  the  Holy  Ghosl,  by  Rev,  Asa  Mahau,  D.D.,  p.  ii8. 


PEACEABLE   FRUIT.  403 

a^o,  and  I  read  to  them  Dr.  Steele's  three  tracts  and  lent  tlicm 
Mahan.  They  were  much  interested,  but  I  do  not  know  how 
much  struck.  I  can  not  smile,  as  some  do,  at  Dr.  Steele's  testi- 
mony. I  believe  in  it  fully  and  heartily.  If  I  do  not  know 
what  it  is  to  "find  God  real,"  I  do  not  know  anything.  Never 
was  mv  faith  in  the  strongest  doctrines  of  Christianity  stronger 
than  it  is  n(jw. 

Feb.  iT,th. — I  spent  part  of  yesterday  in  reading  Stepping 
Heavenward  !  You  will  think  that  very  strange  till  I  add  that 
it  was  in  German  ;  and,  as  the  translator  has  all  my  books,  I 
wanted  to  know  whether  she  had  done  this  work  satisfactorily 
before  authorising  her  to  proceed  with  the  rest.  She  has  omit- 
ted so  much,  that  it  is  rather  an  abridgment  than  a  translation  ; 
otherwise  it  is  well  done.  But  she  has  so  purged  it  of  vivacity, 
that  I  am  afraid  it  will  plod  on  leaden  feet,  if  it  plods  at  all, 
heavenward.    And  now  1  must  hurry  off  to  my  sewing-circle. 

I  want  to  correct  any  mistaken  impression  I  have  made  on 
you  in  conversation.     The  utmost  I  meant  to  say  was. 

^^  ^  that  I  had  orot  new  liq-ht  intellectuallv,  or  theologically 
Frieud,  on  the  subject  of  the  working  of  the  Spirit.  In  the 
'^fs73.'^'  sense  in  which  I  use  the  words  "baptism  of  the  Holy 
Ghost,"  I  certainly  do  not  consider  that  I  have  re- 
ceived it.     I  think  it  means  perfect  consecration Thus  far, 

no  matter  what  people  profess,  I  have  never  come  into  close 
contact  with  any  life  that  I  did  not  find  more  or  less  imperfect. 
I  find,  in  other  words,  the  best  human  beings  fallible,  and  very 
fallible.  The  best  I  can  say  of  myself  is,  that  I  see  the  need  of 
immense  advances  in  the  divine  life.  I  find  it  hard  to  be  patient 
with  myself  when  I  sec  how  far  I  am  from  reaching  even  my 
own  poor  standard  ;  but  if  I  do  not  love  Christ  and  long  to 
please  Him,  I  do  not  love  anybody  or  anything.  And  if  I  have 
talked  less  to  you  on  these  sacred  subjects  this  winter,  it  has 
been  partly  owing  to  my  seeing  less  of  you,  and  an  impalpable 
but  real  barrier  between  us  which  I  have  not  known  how  to  ac- 
count for,  but  which  made  me  cautious  in  pushing  religion  on 
you.  Young  people  usually  have  their  ups  and  downs  anc 
fluctuations  of  feeling  before  they  settle  down  on  to  fi.xed //'///- 
(iples,  paying  no  regard  to  feeling,  and  older  Christians  should 
bear  with  them,  make  allowance   for  this,  and    never  obtrude 


404  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

their  own  views  or  experiences.  I  think  you  will  come  out  all 
right.  Satan  will  fight  hard  for  you,  and  perhaps  for  a  time 
get  the  upper  hand  ;  but  I  believe  the  Lord  and  Master  will 
prevail.  Perhaps  we  are  never  dearer  to  Him  than  when  the 
wings  on  which  we  onc&  Jlew  to  Him,  hang  drooping  and  broken 
at  our  side,  and  we  have  to  make  our  weary  way  on  foot. 

I  am  always  thankful  to  have  my  heart  stirred  and  warmed 
b}"  Christian  letters  or  conversation  ;  always  glad  to  see  any 
signs  of  the  presence  of  the  Holy  Spirit  at  work  in  a  human 
soul.  But  never  force  yourself  to  write  or  talk  of  spiritual 
things  ;  try  rather  to  get  so  full  of  Christ  that  mention  of  Him 
shall  be  natural  and  spontaneous. 

I  have  just  been  reading  the  sermon  of  Dr.  Hopkins  on  prayer 

you  sent  me.   It  sounds  just  like  him.    I  think  his  brother 

Same,     ^-^^  mine  (b)^  marriage)  would  have  treated  the  sub- 

Apt-iiis,   jgct  just  as  logically  and  far  more  practically;  still, 

under  the  circumstances,  that  was  not  desirable.     As 

to  myself,  I  would   rather  have  the  simple  testimony  of  some 

unknown  praying  woman,  who  is  in  the  habit  of  ^^ waiting"  on 

God,  than  all  the  theological  discussions  in  the  w^orld.     The 

subject,  as  you  know,  is  one  of  deep  interest  to  me. 

I  have  not  answered  3^our  letter,  because  I  was  not  quite 
sure  what  it  was  best  to  say.  During  the  winter  I  was  not  sure 
what  had  come  between  us,  and  thought  it  best  to  let  time 
show  ;  and  I  have  been  harassed  and  perplexed  by  certain  anx- 
ieties, Vv^ith  which  it  did  not  seem  necessary  to  trouble  you,  to 
a  degree  that  may  have  given  me  a  preoccupied  manner. 
There  have  been  points  where  I  wanted  a  divine  illumination 
which  I  did  not  get.  I  wanted  to  hear,  "This  is  the  way,  walk 
in  it";  but  that  word  has  not  come  yet,  and  almost  all  my 
spiritual  life  has  been  running  in  that  one  line,  keeping  me, 
necessarily,  out  of  sympathy  with  everybody.  As  far  as  this 
has  been  a  fault,  it  has  reacted  upon  you,  to  whom  I  ought  to 
have  been  more  of  a  help.  But  I  can  say  that  it  delights  me  to 
see  you  even  trying  to  take  a  step  onward,  and  to  know  that 
while  still  young,  and  with  the  temptations  of  youth  about  you, 
you  have  set  your  face  heavenward.  Your  temptations,  like 
mine,  are  through  the  affections.  "Only  God  can  satisfy  a 
woman";   and   yet  we  try,  every  now   and   then,  to   see  if   we 


rEACEABIJC    FRUIT.  405 

can't  find  somebody  else  worth  leaning  on.  JVc  never  s/ia!I,  and 
it  is  a  great  pity  we  can  not  always  realise  it.  I  never  deliber- 
ately make  this  attempt  now,  but  am  still  liable  to  fall  into 
the  temptation.  I  am  sure  that  I  can  never  be  really  happy  and 
at  rest  out  of  or  far  from  Christ,  nor  do  I  want  to  be.  Getting 
new  and  warm  friends  is  all  very  well,  but  I  emerge  from  this 
snare  into  a  deepening  conviction    that  I  must  learn  to  say, 

"  None  but   Christ."  ....  Now,   dear  ,   it    is    a  dreadful 

thing  to  be  cold  towards  our  best  Friend  ;  a  calamity  if  it 
comes  upon  us  through  Satan  ;  a  sin  and  folly  if  it  is  the  result 
of  any  fault  or  omission  of  our  own.  There  is  but  one  refuge 
from  it,  and  that  is  in  just  going  to  Him  and  telling  Him  all 
about  it.  We  can  not  force  ourselves  to  love  Him,  but  we  can 
ask  Him  to  give  us  the  love,  and  sooner  or  later  He  will.  He 
may  seem  not  to  hear,  the  answer  may  come  gradually  and  im 
perceptibly,  but  it  will  come.  He  has  given  you  one  friend  at 
least  who  prays  for  your  spiritual  advance  every  day.  I  hope 
you  pray  thus  for  me.  Friendship  that  does  not  do  that  is  not 
worth  the  name.  April  17///. — Of  course,  I'll  take  the  will  for 
the  deed  and  consider  myself  covered  with  "orange  blossoms," 
like  a  babe  in  the  wood.  And  it  is  equally  of  course  that  I  was 
married  with  lots  of  them  among  my  lovely  auburn  locks,  and 
wore  a  veil  in  point  lace  twenty  feet  long. 

I  have  had  several  titles  given  me  in  Dorset — among  others, 
a  *' child  of  nature" — and  last  night  I  was  shown  a  letter  in 
which  (I  hope  it  is  not  wicked  to  quote  it  in  such  a  connexion) 
I  am  styled  "a  Princess  in  Christ's  Kingdom."  Can  you  cap 
this  climax  ^ 


n. 

Goes  to  Dorset.  Christian  Example.  At  Work  among:  her  Flowers.  Danjrcrous  Ill- 
ness. Her  Feeling  about  Dyinp:.  Death  an  "Invitation"  from  Christ.  "The 
Undei  current  boars  Homey  "More  Love,  More  love!"  A  Trait  of  Character. 
Special  Mercies.     What  makes  a  sweet  Home.     Letters. 

Early  in  June,  accompanied  by  the  three  youHL^cr  chil- 
dren,  she  went  to  Dorset.  This  change  always  put  her  into  a 
plow  of  pleasurable  emotion.     Once  out  of  the  city,  she  WtOS 


4O0  THE    LIFE    OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

like  a  bird  let  loose  from  its  cage.  In  a  letter  to  her  husband 
dated  "  Somewhere  on  the  road,  five  o'clock  P.M.,"  she  wrote 
*'  M.  is  laughing  at  me  because,  Paddy-like,  I  proposed  inform- 
ing you  in  a  P.  S.  that  we  had  reached  Dorset ;  as  if  the  fact 
of  mailing  a  letter  there  could  not  prove  it.  So  I  Avill  take 
her  advice  and  close  this  now.  I  feel  that  our  cup  of  mercies 
is  running  over.  We  ought  to  be  ever  so  good  !  And  I  am 
ever  so  loving!  "  "We  are  all  as  gay  as  larks,"  she  wrote  a 
few  days  later ;  and  in  spite  of  heat,  drought,  over-work  and 
sickness,  she  continued  in  this  mood  most  of  the  summer. 
But  while  ''gay  as  a  lark,"  she  was  also  grave  and  thoughtful. 
Her  delight  in  nature  seemed  only  to  increase  her  interest  in 
divine  things  and  her  longing  to  be  like  Christ.  In  a  letter  to 
one  of  her  young  friends,  having  spoken  of  prayer  as  "  the 
greatest  favor  one  friend  can  render  another,"  she  adds : 

But  perhaps  I  may  put  one  beyond  it — Christian  example. 
^  ought  to  be  so  saintly,  so  consecrated,  that  you  could  not  be 
with  me  and  not  catch  the  very  spirit  of  heaven  ;  never  get  a 
letter  from  me  that  did  not  quicken  your  steps  in  the  divine 
life.  But  while  I  believe  the  principle  of  love  to  Christ  is  en- 
trenched in  the  depths  of  my  soul,  the  emotion  of  love  is  not 
always  in  that  full  play  I  want  it  to  be.  No  doubt  He  judges 
us  by  the  principle  He  sees  to  exist  in  us,  but  we  can't  help 
judging  ourselves,  in  spite  of  ourselves,  by  our  feelings.  At 
church  this  morning  my  mind  kept  wandering  to  and  fro  ;  I 
thought  of  you  about  twenty  times  ;  thought  about  my  flowers  ; 
thought  of  501  other  things  ;  and  then  got  up  and  sang 

"  I  love  Thy  kingdom,  Lord," 

as  if  I  cared  for  that  and  nothing  else.  What  He  has  to  put 
up  with  in  me  !  But  I  believe  in  Him,  I  love  Him,  I  hate  every- 
thing in  my  soul  and  in  my  life  that  is  unlike  Him.  I  hope  the 
confession  of  my  shortcomings  won't  discourage  5^ou  ;  it  is  no 
proof  that  at  my  age  you  will  not  be  far  beyond  such  weakness 

and   folly   as  often    carry  me  away  captive As  far  as 

earlhly  blessings  go  I  am  as  near  perfect  happiness  as  a  human 
being  can  be  ;  everything  is  heaped  on  me.  What  I  want  is 
more  of  Christ,  and  that  is  what  I  hope  you  pray  that  I  maj 
have. 


rEACFAr.LF,    FRUIT. 


407 


To  another  young  friend  she  writes,  June  12th  : 

We  have  varied  experiences,  sick  or  well,  and  the  discipline 
of  a  heart  not  perfectly  satisfied  with  what  it  gets  from  God, 
often  alternates  with  the  peace  of  which  you  speak  as  just  now 
yours.  What  a  blessed  thing  this  "very  peace  of  God"  is! 
There  is  no  earthly  joy  to  be  compared  with  it.  But  to  gc 
patiently  on  without  it,  when  it  is  not  given,  is,  I  think,  a  great 
achievement ;  for  instance,  if  I  held  no  communication  with  you 
for  a  year,  would  it  not  be  a  wonderful  proof  of  your  love  to 
and  faith  in  me,  if  you  kept  on  writing  me  and  telling  me  your 
joys  and  trials  ?  To  go  back — I  have  been  a  good  deal  con- 
fused by  the  contradictory  testimony  of  different  Christians 
and  am  driven  more  and  more  to  a  conviction  that  human  be- 
ings, at  the  best,  are  very  fallible.  We  must  get  our  light  directly 
from  on  high.  At  the  same  time  we  influence  each  other  for 
right  or  for  wrong,  and  one  who  is  thoroughly  upright  and 
true,  will,  unconsciously,  influence  and  help  those  about  him. 
....  I  am  enjoying,  as  I  always  do,  having  the  three  younger 
children  close  about  me  here,  and  all  sleeping  on  my  floor. 
We  are  really  V[k&four  children,  continually  frolicking  together. 
We  are  all  crowded  now  into  my  den,  and  I  wish  you  were 
here  with  us  to  be  the  ^^ fifth  kitten."  Did  you  ever  read  that 
story  ? 

It  was  ever  so  kind  in  you  to  let  us  share  in  your  relief  and 

To  Mrs      pleasure,  and  we  unite  in  affectionate  congratulations 

Catharine   to  you  all.     I  do  hopc  this  uew  and  precious  treasure 

Dorset,  July  will  be  Spared  to  his  dear  mother,  and  grow  up  to 

12,  I  73-     |-)g  j^gj.  stjiy  and  staff  years  hence.     It  is  the  nicest 

thing  in  the  world  to  have  a  baby.     W^hat  marvels  they  are  in 

every  respect,  but  especially  in  their  royal  power  over  us  ! 

In  spite  of  the  dry  weather  we  have  had  a  pleasant  summer, 
so  far.  Just  before  we  entirely  burned  up  and  turned  to  tinder, 
showers  came  to  our  relief,  and  our  gardens  are  putting  on 
some  faint  smiles  and  making  some  promises.  I  did  not  allow 
a  drop  of  water  to  be  wasted  for  weeks  ;  dish-water,  soap-suds, 
dairy  water,  everything  went  to  my  flower-beds,  and  each 
night,  after  Mr.  Prentiss  came,  a  barrel-full  was  carted  up  from 
the  pond  for  me  ;  how  many  the  rest  used  I  don't  know.  Dis- 
posing of  such  a  load  has  rot  been  blessed  to  my  health,  and  I 


408  THE   LIFE    OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

have  had  to  draw  in  my  horns  a  little,  but  M.  and  T  work  gen- 
erally like  two  day-laborers  for  the  wages  we  get,  and  those 
wages  are  flowers  here,  there  and  everywhere,  to  say  nothing 
of  ferns,  brakes,  mosses,  scarlet  berries,  and  the  like.  And 
when  flowers  fail  we  fall  back  on  different  shades  of  green  ; 
the  German  ivy  being  relieved  by  a  background  of  dark  foliage, 
or  light  grasses  against  grave  ones  ;  and  when  we  hit  on  any 
new  combination,  each  summons  the  other  to  be  lost  in  admira- 
tion. And  when  we  are  too  sore  and  stiff  from  weeding,  grass- 
shearing  or  watering,  we  fall  to  framing  little  pictures,  or  to 
darning  stockings,  which  she  does  so  beautifully  that  it  has 
become  a  fine  art  with  her,  or  I  betake  myself  to  the  sewing- 
machine  and  stitch  for  legs  that  seem  to  grow  long  by  the 
minute. 

V/hat  the  rest  of  the  family  are  about  meanwhile,  I  can  not 
exactly  say.  Mr.  Prentiss  sits  in  a  chair  with  an  umbrella  over 
his  head,  and  pulls  up  a  weed  now  and  then,  and  then  strolls  off 
with  a  straw  in  his  mouth  ;  he  also  drives  off  sometimes  on 
foraging  expeditions,  and  comes  back  with  butter,  eggs,  etc., 
and  on  hot  days  takes  a  bath  where  a  stream  of  cold  water 
dashes  over  him  ;  "  splendid  "  he  says,  and  "  horrid "  I  say 
The  boys  are  up  to  everything ;  they  are  carpenters,  and 
plumbers,  and  trouters,  and  harnessers,  and  drivers  ;  H.  has 
just  learned  to  solder,  and  saves  me  no  little  trouble  and  ex- 
pense by  stopping  leakages  ;  heretofore  every  holey  vessel  had 
to  be  sent  out  of  town.  Both  boys  have  gardens  and  sell  vege- 
tables to  their  father  at  extraordinary  prices,  and  they  are  now 
filling  up  a  deep  ditch  500  feet  long  at  a  "York  shilling"  an 
hour — men  get  a  "long  shilling"  and  do  the  work  no  better. 
With  the  money  thus  made  they  buy  tools  of  all  sorts,  seeds 
and  fruit  trees,  but  no  nonsense.  Three  happier  children  than 
these  three  can  not  be  found 

You  may  be  interested,  too,  to  know  what  are  the  famous 
works  of  art  we  are  framing,  as  above  referred  to.  Well,  photo- 
graphs of  our  kindred  and  friends  for  one  thing  :  my  brothers, 
my  husband's  mother  and  other  relatives  of  his.  Prof,  and  Mrs. 
Smith,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  B.  B.,  and  so  on,  a  good  deal  as  it  has 
happened,  for  everybody  hasn't  been  photographed  ;  and  some 
bodies  have  not  given  us  their  pictures — you,  for  instance,  and 
.\f  you  want  to  be  hung  as  high  as  Hamau  in  my  den,  nine  feet 


PEACEABLE   FRUTT.  409 

square,  where  I  write,  why,  you  can.  Last  summer  I  had  a 
mania  for  illuminating,  and  made  about  a  cord  of  texts  and 
mottoes  ;  I  can't  paint,  so  I  cut  letters  out  of  red,  blue  and 
black  paper,  and  deceived  thereby  the  very  elect,  for  even  Mrs. 
Washburn  was  taken  in,  and  said  they  were  painted  nicely. 

Your  little  note  has  drawn  large  interest,  hasn't  it?     Well 
it  deserved  its  fate. 

Hardly  had  she  finished  this  letter  when  she  was  taken 
very  ill.  For  a  while  it  seemed  as  if  the  time  of  her  depart- 
ure had  come.  At  her  request  the  children  were  called  to  her 
bedside,  and  she  gave  them  in  turn  her  dying  counsels,  bade 
them  live  for  Christ  as  the  only  true,  abiding  good,  and  then 
kissed  each  of  them  good-bye.  She  was  much  disappointed 
on  finding  that  her  sickness,  after  all,  was  not  an  "  invitation  " 
from  the  Master.  "  You  don't  get  away  tJiis  time,"  said  her 
husband  to  her,  half  playfully,  half  exultingly,  referring  to  her 
eagerness  to  go. 

And  here  it  may  not  be  amiss  to  say  a  word  as  to  her  state 
of  mind  respecting  death.  After  her  release  her  husband  thus 
described  it  to  a  friend  : 

Her  feeling  about  dying  seemed  to  me  to  be  almost  unique.  In  all  my 
pastoral  experience,  at  least,  1  do  not  recall  another  case  quite  like  it.  Her 
faith  in  a  better  world,  that  is,  a  heavenly,  was  quite  as  strong  as  her  faith 
in  God  and  in  Christ  ;  she  regarded  it  as  the  true  home  of  the  soul  ;  and 
the  tendency  of  a  good  deal  of  modern  culture  to  put  this  world  in  its 
place  as  man's  highest  sphere  and  end,  struck  her  as  a  mockery  of  the 
holiest  instincts  at  once  of  humanity  and  religion.  Death  was  associated  in 
her  mind  with  the  instant  realisation  of  all  her  sweetest  and  most  precious 
hopes.  She  viewed  it  as  an  invitation  from  the  King  of  Glory  to  come  and  be 
with  Him.  During  the  more  than  three-and-thirty  years  of  our  married  life 
I  doubt  if  there  was  ever  a  time  when  the  summons  would  have  found  her 
unwilling  to  go  ;  rarely,  if  ever,  a  time  when  she  would  not  have  welcomed 
it  with  great  joy.  On  putting  to  her  the  question,  "  Would  you  be  ready  to 
go  ?io^>?"  she  would  answer,  "Why,  yes,"  in  a  tone  of  calm  assurance, 
rather  of  visible  delight,  which  I  can  never  forget.  And  during  all  her 
lalcr  years  her  answer  to  such  a  question  would  imply  a  sort  of  astonish- 
ment, that  anybody  could  ask  it.  So  strong,  indeed,  was  her  own  feeling 
about  death  as  a  real  boon  to  the  Christian,  that  she  was  scarcely  able,  I 
think,  fullv  to  sympathise  with  those  who  regarded  it  with  misgiving  01 
terror.     The  point  may  be  illustrated,  perhaps,  by  referring  to  her  perfect 


4IO  THE    LIFE   OF    MRS.  I'RENTISS. 

fearlessness  and  repose  in  the  midst  of  the  most  terrific  thdnder-storm. 
No  matter  how  vivid  the  lightning's  flashes  or  how  near  and  loud  the  claps 
that  followed,  they  affected  her  nerves  as  little  as  any  summer  breeze — 
scarcely  ever  awaking  her  if  asleep,  or  hindering  her  from  going  to  sleep  ii 
awake.  And  so  it  was  with  regard  to  the  terrors  of  death.  But  not 
merely  was  there  an  absence  of  all  apparent  dread  of  death,  but  an  exulting 
joy  in  the  thought  of  it.  There  is  a  passage  in  The  Home  at  Greylock, 
which  was  evidently  inspired  by  her  own  experience.  It  is  where  old 
Mary,  when  her  first  wild  burst  of  grief  was  over,  said  : 

Sure  she's  got  her  wish  and  died  sudden.  She  was  always  ready  to  go,  and  now  she's 
gone.  Often's  the  time  I've  heard  her  talk  about  dying,  and  I  mind  a  time  when  she 
thought  she  was  going,  and  there  was  a  light  in  her  eye,  and  "What  d'ye  think  ol 
that  ? "  says  she.  I  declare  it  was  just  as  she  looked  when  she  says  to  me,  "  Mary,  I'm 
going  to  be  married,  and  what  d'ye  think  of  that  ? "  says  she. 

This  feeling  about  death  is  the  more  notev.orthy  in  her  case  because  of  her 
very  deep,  poignant  sense  of  sin  and  of  her  own  unworthiness. 

This    is    my    third    Sunday    home    from    church.      I    have 

been  confined   to  my  bed  only  about  a  week,  but  it 

Fth^id    ^^^^  "^^  some  days  to  run  down  to  that  point,  and 

Dorset,     now  it  is  takiupf  some  to  run  me  up  asfain.    I  had  two 

Jidy  27,  i"      & 

1S73.  '  or  three  very  suffering  days  and  nights,  and  the  doctor 
was  here  nearly  all  of  one  day  and  night,  but  was  very 
kind,  understood  my  case  and  managed  it  admirably.  He  is 
from  Manchester  and  is  son  of  a  missionary.' 

You  speak  in  your  letter  of  being  oppressed  by  the  heat,  and 
wearied  by  visitors,  and  say  that  prayer  is  little  more  than 
uttering  the  name  of  Jesus.  I  have  c.sked  myself  a  great  many 
times  this  summer  how  much  that  means. 

'*  All  I  can  utter  sometimes  is  Thy  name  !  " 

This  line  expresses  my  state  for  a  good  while.  Of  course  get- 
ting out  of  one  house  into  another  and  coming  up  here,  all  in 
the  space  of  one  month,  was  a  great  tax  on  time  and  strength, 
and  all  my  regular  habits  had  to  be  broken  up.  Then  before  the 
ram  was  put  in  I  over-exerted  myself,  tmconsciously,  carrying 
too  heavy  pails  of  water  to  my  flower-beds,  and  so  broke  down 
For  some  hours  the  end  looked  very  near,  but  I  do  not  know 
whether  it  was  stupidity  or  faith  that  made  me  so  content  to 
go.  I  am  afraid  that  a  good  deal  of  what  passes  for  the  one  ij>- 
»  Dr.  L.  H.  Hemenway. 


PEACEABLE    FRUIT.  4I I 

really  the  other.  Fortunately  for  us,  our  faith  does  not  entitle 
us  to  heaven  any  more  than  our  stupidity  shuts  us  out  of  it ; 
when  we  get  there  it  will  be  through  Him  who  loved  us.  But 
if  I  may  judge  by  the  experience  of  this  little  illness,  our  hearts 
are  not  so  tied  to  or  in  love  with  this  world  as  we  fear.  We 
make  the  most  of  it  as  long  as  we  must  stay  in  it ;  but  the  un- 
der-current bears  JioDie. 

The  following  extract  from  a  letter  to  a  young  relative, 
dated  Sept.  23d,  furnishes  at  once  a  key  to  several  maikcd 
traits  of  her  character  and  a  practical  comment  upon  her  own 
hymn,  ''  More  love  to  Thee,  O  Christ ! " 

I  had  no  right  to  leave  my  friend  undefended.  I  prayed 
to  do  it  aright.  If  I  did  not  I  am  not  ashamed  to  say  I  am 
sorry  for  it,  and  ask  you  to  forgive  me.  And  if  I  were  twice 
as  old  as  I  am,  and  you  twice  as  young,  I  would  do  it.  I  will 
not  tolerate  anything  wrong  in  myself.  I  hate,  I  hate  sin 
against  my  God  and  Saviour,  and  sin  against  the  earthly  friends 
whom  I  love  with  such  a  passionate  intensity  that  they  are  able 
to  wring  my  heart  out,  and  always  will  be,  if  I  live  to  be   a 

hundred People  who  feel  strongly  express   themselves 

strongly  ;  vehemence  is  one  of  my  faults.  Let  us  pray  for  each 
other.  We  have  great  capacities  for  enjoyment,  but  we  suffer 
more  keenly  than  many  of  our  race.  I  have  been  an  intense 
sufferer  in  many  ways  ;  the  story  would  pain  you  ;  nobody  can 
go  through  this  world  with  a  heart  and  a  soul,  and  jog  along 
smoothly  long  at  a  time I  do  not  remember  ever  hav- 
ing a  discussion  on  paper  with  my  husband  ;  we  should  not 
dare  to  run  the  risk.  But  I  know  I  said  something  once  in  a 
letter,  I  forget  what,  that  made  him  snatch  the  first  train  and 
rush  to  set  things  right,  though  it  cost  him  a  two  days'  journey. 
We  are  tremendous  lovers  still.  Write  and  tell  me  we've  kissed 
and  made  up  !  We  both  mean  well  ;  we  don't  want  to  hurt 
each  other  ;  but  each  has  one  million  points  that  are  very  vulner- 
able. And  neither  can  know  these  points  in  the  other  by  intu- 
ition ;  a  cry  of  pain  will  often  be  the  first  intimation  that  the 
one  can  hurt  the  other  just  there.     We  must  touch  eacli  other 

with  the  tips  of  our  fingers To  love  Christ  more — this 

is  the  deepest  need,  the  constant  cry  of  my  soul.     Down  in  the 


412  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.   PRENTISS. 

bowling-alley,  and  out  in  the  woods,  and  on  my  bed,  snd  out 
driving,  when  I  am  happy  and  busy,  and  when  I  am  sad  and 
idle,  the  whisper  keeps  going  up  for  more  love,  more  love,  more 
love  ! 

I  do  hope  you  will  be  in  New  York  this  winter  and  your 
mother,  too.     What  a  blessing  to  have  a  mother  with 
Christia7i    whom    One   can   hold    Christian   communion !     You 
^Dorsft      ^^^^  some  trials  as  a  set-off  to  it.     You  say  few  live 
Oct.  3,      up  to  what   light  they  have  ;  it  is  true  ;  I  think  we 
get  light  just  as  fast  as  we  are  ready  for  it.     At  the 
ame  time  I  must  ov/n  that  I  have  not  all  the  light  I  need.     I 
am  still  puzzled  as  to  the  true  way  to  live  ;  how  far  to  cherish 
a  spirit  that  makes  one  sit  very  lightly  to  all  earthly  things, 
when  that  spirit  unfits  one,  to  a  great  extent,  to  be  an  agreeable, 
thoroughly  sympathising  companion  to  one's  children,  for  in- 
stance.    My  children  have  a  real  horror  of  Miss ,  because 

she  thinks  and  talks  on  only  one  subject ;  of  course  it  never 
would  do  for  m.e  to  do  as  she  does,  as  far  as  they  are  concerned. 
Perhaps  the  problem  may  be  solved  by  a  resort  to  the  fact  that 
we  are  not  called  to  the  same  experience.  And  yet  an  experi- 
ence of  as  perfect  love  and  faith  as  is  ever  vouchsafed  to  a  soul 
on  earth,  is  what  I  long  for.  At  times  my  heart  dies  within  me 
when  I  realise  how  much  I  need.  As  you  say,  no  doubt  the 
mental  strain  I  had  been  passing  through  prepared  the  way  for 
my  break-down  in  health  ;  as  I  lay,  as  I  thought,  dying,  I  said 
so  to  myself.  That  strain  is  over ;  I  am  in  a  sense  at  rest ;  but 
not  satisfied.  I  have  been  too  near  to  Christ  to  be  happy  in  any- 
thing else  ;  I  don't  mean  by  that,  however,  that  I  never  try  to 
be  happy  in  other  things — alas,  I  do. 

As  to  the  minor  trials,  no  life  is  without  them.  But  what 
mercies  we  get  every  now  and  then  !  The  other  day  three  let- 
ters came  to  me  by  one  mail,  each  of  which  was  important,  and 
came  from  exactly  the  quarter  where  I  was  troubled,  and  dis- 
persed the  trouble  to  a  great  degree.  In  fact  I  am  overwhelmed 
with  mercies,  and  dreadfully  stupid  and  unthankful  for  them. 
I  have  had  also  some  experiences  of  late  of  the  smallness  and 
meanness,  of  which  you  have  had  specimens.  One  has  to  betake 
oneself  to  prayer  to  get  a  sight  of  One,  who  is  large-hearted 
and  noble  and  good  and  true.    Oh,  how  narrow  human  narrow- 


PEACEABT-E   FRUIT.  413 

ness  must  look  to  Him  !     I  don't  know  how  many  times  I  have 

smiled  at  your  remark  about  Miss :  "  She  seems  to  have 

such  a  hard  time  to  learn  her  lessons."  I  feel  sorry  for  her  in 
one  sense,  but  if  she  belongs  to  Christ,  isn't  He  home  enough 
for  her  ?  I  think  it  always  a  very  doubtful  experiment  to  offei 
other  people  a  home  with  you  ;  and  equally  doubtful  whether 
such  an  offer  is  wisely  accepted.  Being  a  saint  does  not,  I  am 
sorry  to  say,  necessarily  make  one  an  agreeable  addition  to  the 
family  circle  as  God  has  formed  it ;  if  His  hand  se?i(is  this  new 
element  into  the  house,  of  course  one  may  expect  grace  to  bear 
it ;  but  voluntarily  to  seek  it  argues  either  want  of  experience 
or  an  immense  power  of  self-sacrifice.     I  should  prefer  iNIiss 

's  friends  agreeing  to  give  her  an  independent  home,  as  far 

as  a  boarding-house  can  furnish  a  home.  And  if  it  provides  a 
place  in  which  to  pray,  as  sweet  a  home  may  be  found  there  as 
anywhere. 

We  go  to  town  on  the  ninth  of  this  month.  Mr.  Prentiss 
has  been  gone  some  time,  and  has  entered  upon  his  new  duties 
with  great  delight.  I  must  confess  that  if  I  were  going  to 
choose  my  work  in  life,  I  could  think  of  nothing  more  congeni- 
al than  to  train  young  Christians.  It  has  come  over  me  lately 
that  all  those  whom  he  now  instructs,  have  more  or  less  of  the 
new  life  in  them.  I  am  sorry,  however,  to  add  that  some  young 
theological  friends  of  mine  deny  this.  They  say  that  many 
young  men  preparing  for  the  ministry  give  no  other  sign  of 
piety.  Young  people  judge  hastily  and  severely.  As  soon  as  I 
get  over  my  first  hurry,  after  reaching  home,  I  hope  you  will 

come  and  see  me You  speak  of  my  experience  on  my 

sick-bed  as  a  precious  one.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  it  does  not 
seem  so  to  me  ;  I  mean,  nothing  extraordinary.  Not  to  want 
to  go,  if  invited,  would  be  a  contradiction  to  most  of  my  life. 
But  as  I  was  fiol  invited  I  realise  that  I  am  needed  here  and  I 
am  afraid  it  was  selfish  to  be  so  delighted  to  go,  horribly  selfish 


414  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 


III. 

Change  of  Home  and  Life  in  New  York.  A  Book  about  Robbie.  Her  Sympathy  with 
young  People.  "  I  have  in  me  Two  different  Natures."  What  Dr.  De  Witt  said  a< 
the  Grave  of  his  Wife.  The  Way  to  meet  little  Trials.  Faults  in  Prayer-Meetings, 
How  special  Theories  of  the  Christian  Life  are  formed.  Sudden  Illness  of  Prof. 
Smith.     Publication  of  Golden  Hours.     How  it  was  received. 

Her  return  from  Dorset  brought  with  it  a  new  order  of 
life.  The  transfer  of  her  husband  to  a  theological  chair  was 
almost  as  great  a  change  to  her  as  to  him.  In  ceasing  to  be  a 
pastor's  wife  she  gave  up  a  position,  which  for  more  than  a 
quarter  of  a  century  had  been  to  her  a  spring  of  constant  joy, 
and  which,  notwithstanding  its  cares,  she  regarded  as  one  of 
the  most  favored  on  earth.  While  in  the  parsonage,  too,  she 
was  in  the  midst  of  her  friends ;  the  removal  to  Sixty-first 
street  left  the  most  of  them  at  a  distance ;  and  distance  in 
New  York  is  no  slight  hindrance  to  the  full  enjoyment  of 
social  intimacy  and  fellowship.  Several  weeks  after  the  return 
to  town  were  devoted  to  the  congenial  task  of  fitting-up  and 
adorning  the  new  home.  Then  for  the  first  time  in  many 
years  she  found  herself  at  leisure ;  and  one  of  its  earliest  fruits 
was  a  selection  of  stray  religious  verses  for  publication ; 
which,  however,  soon  gave  way  to  a  volume  of  her  own.  She 
was  able  also  to  give  special  attention  to  her  favorite  religious 
reading. 

The  sharp  trials  and  suffering  of  the  previous  years  showed 
their  effect  in  deepened  spiritual  convictions,  humility  and 
tenderness  of  feeling,  but  not  in  repressing  her  natural  play- 
fulness. At  times  her  spirits  were  still  buoyant  with  fun  and 
laughter.  An  extract  from  a  letter  to  her  youngest  daughter, 
who  with  her  sister  was  on  a  visit  at  Portland,  will  give  a 
glimpse  of  this  gay  mood.  Such  mishaps  as  she  recounts  are 
liable  to  occur  in  the  best-regulated  households,  especially  on 
a  change  of  servants ;  but  they  were  rare  in  her  experience 
and  so  the  more  amused  her : 

I  undertook  to  get  up  a  nice  dinner  for  Dr.  and  Mrs.  V , 

about  which  I  must  now  tell  you.     First  I  was  to  have  raw  oys- 


PEACEABLE    FRUIT.  415 

ters  on  the  shell.  Blunder  isf,  small  tea-plates  laid  for  them. 
Ordered  off,  and  big  ones  laid.  Blunder  2^,  five  oysters  to 
be  laid  on  each  plate,  instead  of  which  five  were  placed  on  plat- 
ters at  each  end,  making  ten  in  all  for  the  whole  party  !  Order- 
ed a  change  to  the  original  order.  Result,  a  terrific  sound  in 
the  parlor  of  rushing  feet  and  bombardment  of  oyster- shel's 
Dinner  was  announced.     Blunder  id  from  Dr.  P.,  who  asked, 

helplessly,  where  he  should  place  Mrs.  V .     Blunder  \th  by 

Mrs.  P.,  who  remarked  that  she  had  got  fifty  pieces  of  shell  in 
her  mouth.  Blunder  ^th  by  Dr.  P.,  who  failed  to  perceive  that 
the  boiled  chickens  w^ere  garnished  with  a  stunning  wine-jelly 
and  regarding  it  as  gizzards,  presented  it  only  to  the  boys  ! 
Bhmder  6th.  Cranberry-jelly  ordered.  Cranberry  as  a  dark, 
inky  fluid  instead  ;  gazed  upon  suspiciously  by  the  guests,  and 
tasted  sparingly  by  the  family. — And  now  prepare  for  blunder  A^o. 
7,  bearing  in  mind  that  it  is  the  third  course.  Four  prairie  hens 
instead  of  two  !  The  effect  on  the  Rev.  Mrs.  E.  Prentiss  was  a 
resort  to  her  handkerchief,  and  suppression  of  tears  on  finding 
none  in  her  pocket.  .  Blunder  8///.  lauch's  biscuit  glace  stuffed 
with    hideous    orange-peel.      Delight    ijr/,    delicious    dessert    of 

farina  smothered  in  custard  and  dear  to  the  heart  of  Dr.  V . 

Blunder  c^th.  No  hot  milk  for  the  coffee,  delay  in  scalding  it, 
and  at  last  serving  it  in  a  huge  cracked  pitcher.  Blunder  loth. 
Bananas,  grapes,  apples,  and  oranges  forgotten  at  the  right 
moment  and  passed  after  the  coffee  and  of  course  declined. 
But  hearing  that  Miss  H.  V.  was  fond  of  bananas,  I  seized  the 
fruit-basket  and  poured  its  contents  into  one  napkin,  and  a  lot 
of  chocolate-cake  into  another,  and  sent  them  to  tlie  young 
princesses  in  the  parsonage,  who  are,  no  doubt,  dying  of  indi- 
gestion, this  morning.  Give  my  love  to  C.  and  F.,  and  a 
judicious  portion  to  the  old  birds. 

I  am  sorry  that  we  played  hide-and-go-seek  with  each  other 

when  you  were  in  town.     1  have  seen  all   my  most  in- 

a  voung    timate  friends  since   I  came  home;   I   mean   all   who 

t^yicnd  ort.y^y^^  here;  there  are  just  eight  of  ihcm,  but  ihcy  fill 
19, 1873.  '  J  t->  ^  J 

my  heart  so  that  I  should  have  said,  at  a  guess,  there 

were  eighty  !     Try"  the  experiment  on  yourself  and  tell  me  how 

many  such  friends  you  have.     It  is  very  curious. 

I   have  just  got   holii  of  some   leaves  of  a  journal    rescued 


41 6  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

from  the  flames  by  my  (future)  husband,  written  at  the  age  of 
2  2,  in  which  I  describe  myself  as  "one  great  long  sunbeam.* 
It  recalled  the  sweet  life  in  Christ  I  was  then  leading,  and 
made  me  feel  that  if  I  had  got  so  far  on  as  a  girl,  I  ought  to  be 
infinitely  farther  on  as  a  woman.  Still,  in  spite  of  all  shame  and 
regrets,  I  had  a  long  list  of  mercies  to  recount  at  the  com- 
munion-table  to-day.  Among  other  things  I  feel  that  I  know 
and  love  you  better  than  heretofore,  and  it  is  pleasant  to  love 
I  must  not  forget  to  answer  your  little  niece's  questions.  I 
remember  her  father's  calling  with  your  sister,  but  I  don't  re- 
member any  little  girl  as  being  with  them,  much  less  "  kissing 
her  because  she  liked  the  Susy  books."  As  to  writing  more 
about  Robbie,  L  can't  do  that  till  I  get  to  heaven,  where  he  has 
been  ever  so  many  years.  Give  my  love  to  the  wee  maiden,  and 
tell  her  I  should  love  to  kiss  her. 


No  trait  in  Mrs.  Prentiss  was  more  striking  than  her  sym- 
pathy with  young  people,  especially  with  young  girls,  and  her 
desire  to  be  religiously  helpful  to  them.  But  her  interest  in 
them  Vv^as  not  confined  to  the  spiritual  life.  She  delighted  to 
join  them  in  their  harmless  amusements,  and  to  take  her  part 
in  their  playful  contests,  whether  of  wit  or  knowledge.  Her 
friend,  Miss  Morse,  thus  recalls  this  feature  of  her  character : 

In  Mrs.  Prentiss'  life  the  wise  man's  saying-,  A  7ne?-ry  heart  dociJi  good- 
like  a  medicine,  was  beautifully  exemplified.  Yet  few  were  thoroughly 
acquainted  with  this  phase  of  her  character.  Those  who  knew  her  only 
through  her  books,  or  her  letters  of  Christian  sympathy  and  counsel — many 
even  who  came  into  near  and  tender  personal  relations  to  her — failed  to  see 
the  frolicsome  side  of  her  nature  which  made  her  an  eager  participant  in 
the  fun  of  young  people — in  a  merry  group  of  girls  the  merriest  girl  among 
them.  In  contests  where  playful  rhymes  were  to  be  composed  at  command, 
on  a  moment's  notice,  she  sharpened  the  wits  of  her  companions  by  Lcr 
own  zest,  but  in  most  cases  herself  bore  off  the  palm. 

She  always  entered  into  such  contests  with  an  unmistakable  desire  to 
win.  I  remember  one  evening  in  her  own  home  in  Dorset,  when  four  of  us 
were  engaged  in  a  game  of  verbarium,  two  against  two — the  opposite 
party  were  gaining  rapidly.  She  suddenly  turned  to  her  partner  with  a 
comical  air  of  chagrin  and  exclaimed:  'Why  is  it  they  are  winning  the 
game  ?    You  and  I  are  a  great  deal  brighter  than  they  1  " 

The  first  time  I  ever  saw  Mrs.  Prentiss  was  through  an  invitation  to  hel 


PEACEABLE    FRUIT.  417 

home  to  meet  about  half  a  dozen  young"  persons  of  my  own  age.  She  was 
in  one  of  her  merriest  moods.  Games  of  wit  were  played  and  she  took  part 
with  genuine  interest.  She  at  once  impressed  me  with  the  feeling-  that  she 
was  one  of  us,  and  that  this  arose  from  no  effort  to  be  sympathetic,  but 
was  simply  part  of  her  nature. 

This  brightness  wonderfully  attracted  young  people  to  her,  and  gave  her 
an  influence  with  them  that  she  could  not  otherwise  have  exercised.  She 
recognised  it  in  herself  as  a  power,  and  used  it,  as  she  did  all  her  powers, 
for  the  service  of  her  Master.  Young  Christians,  seeing  that  her  deeply 
religious  life  did  not  interfere  with  her  keen  enjoyment  of  all  innocent 
pleasures,  realised  that  there  need  be  no  gloominess  for  them,  either,  in  a 
life  consecrated  to  God. 

Just  as  her  line  of  thought  would  often  lie  absorbingly  in  some  one 
direction  for  quite  a  period  of  time,  so  her  fun  ran  "in  streaks,"  as  she 
would  have  been  likely  to  express  it.  One  winter  she  amused  herself  and 
her  friends  by  a  great  number  of  charades  and  enigmas,  many  of  which  I 
copied  and  still  possess.  They  w^ere  dashed  off  with  an  ease  and  rapidity 
quite  remarkable.  And  I  believe  the  same  thing  was  true  of  most  of  her 
books.  I  have  watched  her  when  she  was  writing  some  funny  piece  ot 
rhyme,  and  as  her  pen  literally  flew  over  the  paper,  I  could  hardly  believe  that 
she  was  actually  composing  as  she  wrote.  One  day  two  young  girls  were 
translating  one  of  Heine's  shorter  poems.  They  had  agreed  to  send  their 
several  versions  to  an  absent  friend,  who  on  his  part  was  to  return  his  own 
to  them.  Mrs.  Prentiss  entered  heartily  into  the  plan  and  in  an  hour  had 
written  as  many  as  a  dozen  translations,  all  in  English  rhyme  and  differing 
entirely  one  from  the  other.  The  stimulating  effect  on  the  genius  of  her 
companions  was  such  that  over  thirty  translations  were  produced  in  that 
one  afternoon. 

In  thinking  of  the  ease  with  which  Mrs.  Prentiss  would  suddenly  turn 
from  grave  to  gay  and  the  reverse,  I  often  recall  her  answer  when  I  one 
day  remarked  on  this  trait  in  her. 

"Yes,  I  have  in  me  two  very  different  natures.  Did  you  ever  hear  the 
story  of  the  dog,  who  by  an  accident  was  cut  in  two,  and  was  joined  to- 
gether by  a  wonderlul  healing  salve  ?  Unfortunately,  the  pieces  were  not 
put  together  properly,  so  two  of  his  legs  stood  up  in  the  air.  At  Hrst  his 
master  thought  it  a  great  misfortune,  but  he  found  that  the  dog,  when  a 
little  accustomed  to  his  strange  new  form,  would  run  until  tired  on  two 
legs,  and  then  by  turning  himself  over  he  would  have  a  fresh  unused  paii 
to  start  with,  and  so  he  did  double  duty  !  I  am  like  that  dog.  When  I  am 
tired  of  running  on  one  nature,  I  can  turn  over  and  run  on  the  otlier,  and 
it  rests  me." ' 

I   want    to   ^pend    a    few   minutes   of    this   my   birthday   in 

>  Some  of  the  charades  referred  to  will  be  found  in  appendix  E,  p.  556. 
27 


41 8  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

talking   with   you    in    reply   to   your    letter.      I    want    to    tell 
you  how  I  love  you,  because  you   "  learn  your    les- 
Christian  SOUS "  SO  easily,  and  how  thankful  I  am  that  in  your 
New^York  Z^^^^  trials  and  afflictions  you  have  been  enabled  to 
Oct.  26,    glorify  God.      How  small   trouble   is  when   set   over 
^^'      against   that  !      Is   not   Christ   enough    for  a   human 
soul  ?      Does   it    really  need   anything  else  for  its  happiness  ? 
You  will  remember  that  when   Madame  Guyon  was   not   only 
homeless,  but  deprived  of  her  liberty,  she  w^as  perfectly  happy. 
"A  little  bird  am   I."*     It  seems  to  me  that  when  God  takes 
away  our  earthly  joys  and  props,  He  gives  Himself  most  gen- 
erously ;  and  is  there  any  joy  on  earth  to  be  compared  for  a 
moment  with  such  a  gift?  ....  My  husband  has  just  come  in 
and  described  the  scene  at  Mrs.  De  Witt's  funeral,""^  when  her 
husband  said.  Good-bye,  dear  wife,  you  have  been  my  greatest  blessing 
next  to  Christ  J  and  he  added,   "and   that   I   can   say  of  you.' 
This  was  very  sweet  to   me,  for  I   have   faults  of  manner  that 
often  annoy  him — I  am  so  vehement,  so  positive,  and  lay  down 
the  law  so  !     But  I  believe  the  grace  of  God  can  cure  faults  of 
all   sorts,  be  they  deep-seated  or  external.     And  I  ought  to  be 
c^ne  of  the  best  women  in  the  world,  if  I  am  good  in  proportion 
■j  the  gifts  with  which  I  am  overwhelmed.     I  count  it  not  the 
iast  of  your  and  m}^  mercies,  that  we  have  been  permitted  to 

Referring  to  the  following  hymn  composed  by  Madame  Guyon  in  prison  : 
A  little  bird  I  am, 

Shut  out  from  fields  of  air, 
And  in  my  cage  I  sit  and  sing 

To  Him  who  placed  me  there. 
Well-pleased  a  prisoner  to  be, 
Because,  my  God,  it  pleaseth  Thee. 

Naught  have  I  else  to  do  ; 

1  sing  the  wliole  day  long  ; 
And  He,  whom  most  I  love  to  please, 

Doth  listen  to  my  song. 
He  caught  and  bound  my  wandering  wing. 
But  still  He  bends  to  hear  me  sing. 

'  Mrs.  De  Witt  was  the  wife  of  the  Rev.  Thomas  De  Witt,  D.D.,  a  man  of  deep  leani- 
:ig,  an  able  pieacher  in  the  Dutch  language  as  well  as  the  Enghsh,  and  universally  re- 
vered for  his  exalted  Christian  virtues.  He  was  a  minister  of  the  Collegiate  Church, 
New  York,  for  nearly  half  a  century.  He  died  May  i8,  1874,  in  the  eighty-third  year  ci 
his  age.  Here  are  other  sentences  uttered  by  him  at  the  grave  of  his  wife  :  "  Farewell, 
my  beloved,  honored,  and  faithful  wife  !  The  tie  that  united  us  is  severed.  Thou  art 
with  Jesus  in  giory  ;  He  is  with  me  by  His  grace,    I  shall  soon  be  with  you.    Faiewell  1 ' 


TEACKADLE    EKUIT.  419 

add  four  little  children  to  the  happy  company  above.  No  won* 
der  you  miss  your  darling  boy,  but  I  am  sure  you  would  not 
call  him  back.  Flave  you  any  choice  religious  verses  not  in 
any  book,  that  you  would  like  to  put  into  one  I  am  going  to 
get  up  ? 

I  want  you  and  your  mother  to  know  what  I  am  now  busy 
about,  hoping  it  may  set  you  to  praying  over  it 
Sa7ne,  When  I  asked  you  for  bits  of  poetry,  I  meant  pieces 
.  ov.  12  /.  g|g^j^g(^  from  time  to  time  from  newspapers.  My 
plan  was  to  make  a  compilation,  interspersing  verses  cf  my 
own  anonymously.  But  Mr.  Randolph  has  convinced  me  that 
it  is  my  duty  and  privilege  to  have  the  little  book  all  original, 
and  to  appear  as  mine  ;  and  in  unexpected  ways  my  will  about 
it  has  been  broken,  and  I  have  ceased  from  all  morbid  shyness 
about  it,  and  am  only  too  thankful  that  God  is  willing  thus  to 
use  me  for  His  own  glory.  Of  course,  I  shall  meet  with  a  good 
deal  of  misapprehension  and  disgust  from  some  quarters,  but 
not  from  you  or  yours.  It  is  a  comfort,  on  the  other  hand,  to 
think  of  once  more  ministering  to  longing  or  afflicted  souls,  as 
I  hope  to  do  in  these  lines,  written  for  no  human  eye.  You  say 
Jesus  is  pained  when  His  dear  ones  suffer.  I  hardly  think  that 
can  be.  Tender  sympathy  He  no  doubt  feels,  but  not  pain.  If 
He  did.  He  would  be  miserable  all  the  time,  the  world  is  so 
full  of  misery. 

When  I  look  back  over  my  own  life,  the  precious  times  were 
generally  seasons  of  great  suffering  ;  so  much  so,  that  the  idea 
of  discipline  has  become  a  hobby.     But  one  can  only  learn  all 

this  by  experience.     Mrs. says  she  never  sings   the  verse 

containing  "  E'en  though  it  be  a  cross  that  raiseth  me,"  and 
that  little  children  never  talk  in  that  way  to  their  mothers, 
and,  therefore,  we  ought  not  to  talk  so  to  God  !  I  did  not 
argue  with  her  about  it,  but  I  felt  thankful  that  I  could  siiii,' 
and  say  that  line  very  earnestly,  and  had  been  taught  to  do  sd 
by  the  Spirit  of  God. 

I  am  glad   you   like   Fabcr  better  on  a  closer  acquaintance. 

He  certainly  has  said  some  wonderful  things  among 

Fi-tend     many  weak  and  foolish  ones.     What  you  quote  from 

New^Yorh,  him  about  thanksgiving  is  very  true.     Our  gratitude 

Dec.  I,     bears  no  sort  of  comparison  with  our  petitions  or  our 

sighs    and    groans.       It  is  contemptible  in   us   to   be 


420  THE    LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

such  thankless  beggars.  As  to  domestic  cares,  you  know  Mi-s 
Stowe  has  written  a  beautiful  little  tract  on  this  subject — 
"  Earthly  Care  a  Heavenly  Discipline."  God  never  places  ua 
in  any  position  in  which  we  can  not  grow^  We  may  fancy  that 
lie  does.  We  may  fear  we  are  so  impeded  by  fretting,  petty 
cares  that  we  are  gaining  nothing  ;  but  when  we  are  not  send*- 
ing  any  branches  upward,  we  may  be  sending  roots  downward. 
Perhaps  in  the  time  of  our  humiliation,  when  everything  seems 
a  failure,  we  are  making  the  best  kind  of  progress.  God  de- 
lights to  try  our  faith  by  the  conditions  in  which  He  places  us. 
A  plant  set  in  the  shade  shows  where  its  heart  is  by  turning  to- 
wards  the  sun,  even  when  unable  to  reach  it.  We  have  so  much 
to  distract  us  in  this  world  that  w^e  do  not  realise  how  truly  and 
deeply,  if  not  always  warmly  and  consciously,  we  love  Christ. 
But  I  believe  that  this  love  is  the  strongest  principle  in  every 
regenerate  soul.  It  may  slumber  for  a  time,  it  may  falter,  it  may 
freeze  nearly  to  death  ;  but  sooner  or  later  it  will  declare  itself 
as  the  ruling  passion.  You  should  regard  all  your  discontent 
with  yourself  as  negative  devotion,  for  that  it  really  is.  Mad- 
ame Guyon  said  boldly,  but  truly,  ''  O  mon  Dieu,  plutot  pech- 
eur  que  superbe,"  and  that  is  the  consoling  word  I  feel  like 
sending  you  to-day.  I  know  all  about  these  little  domestic 
foxes  that  spoil  the  vines,  and  sympathise  with  you  in  yours. 
But  if  some  other  trial  would  serve  God's  purpose.  He  would 
substitute  it. 

I  was  interested  in  what  you  w^rote  about  Miss  G.  and  of 

Dr.  C.'s  meeting.     You  say  she  spends  her  time  in 

youno-     works  of  bcnevolcnce.     This  shows  that  her  piety  is 

New'^York,  of  the  genuine  sort.     It  is  hard  to  have  faith  in  mere 

-^^';  3,     talk.     It  is  a  great  mystery  to  me,  that,  while  we  meet 

with  negative  faults  in  ordinary  prayer-meetings,  we 

find  so  many  positive  faults  in  more  earnest  ones.     Perhaps 

there  is  less   of  self  in  those  who  conduct   them  than  we  itu- 

agine.     I  always  regret  to  see  talk  to  each  other  supplant  c(d- 

dress  to  God  in  such  meetings — always.     As  to  Miss aiul 

others  making  a  "creed"  as  you  say  out  of  their  experience,  I 
think  it  may  be  accounted  for  in  this  way  :  They  come  sud- 
denly into  possession  of  thoughts  and  emotions  to  which  oth- 
ers are  led  gradually  ;  they  are  startled  and  overwhelmed  by 


rEACEABLE    FRUIT.  42 1 

tiie  novelt^'of  the  revelations,  and  at  once  form  a  theory  on  the 
subject ;  and,  having  formed  the  theory,  they  fall  to  so  inter- 
preting the  Bible  as  to  support  it.  Those  who  reach  the  point 
they  have  reached  more  slowly  are  not  startled,  and  do  not 
need  to  form  theories  or  seek  for  unscriptural  expressions  with 
which  to  declare  what  they  have  learned.  They  are  probably 
less  self-conscious,  because  they  have  not  been  aiming  to  enter 
any  school  formed  by  man,  but  have  been  simply  following 
after  Christ ;  hardly  knowing  what  they  expect  will  be  the  re- 
sult, but  getting  a  great  deal  of  sweet  peace  on  the  way.  And 
they  also  acquire,  gradually,  a  certain  kind  of  heaven-taught 
wisdom,  whose  access  comes  not  with  observation  ;  blessed 
truths  revealed  by  the  Holy  Spirit,  full  of  strength  and  con- 
solation. 

At  any  rate,  this  is  as  far  as  I  have  come  to  ;  there  may  be 
oceans  of  knowledge  I  have  yet  to  acquire,  which  will  modify 
or  wholly  change  my  range  of  thought.  And,  according  to 
what  light  I  have,  I  am  inclined  to  advise  you  not  to  confuse 
yourself  with  trying  to  believe  in  or  experience  this  or  that  be- 
cause others  do,  but  to  get  as  close  to  Christ  as  you  can  every 
day  of  your  life  ;  feeling  sure  that  if  you  do,  He  by  His  Spirit 
will  teach  you  all  you  need  to  know.  There  has  been  to 
my  mind,  during  the  last  few  weeks,  something  awe-inspiring 
in  the  sense  I  have  had  of  the  way  in  which  God  instructs  His 
ignorant,  forgetful,  stupid  children.  Such  goodness,  such  pa- 
tience, such  love  !  And,  on  the  other  hand,  our  amazing  cold- 
ness and  ingratitude, 

I  wanted  to  see  you  before  you  left,  but  it  W(^uld  have  been 

cruel  to  add  to  the  cares  and  distractions  amid  which 

'^Sm-'fli'    yoi-i  were  hurrying  off.'  ....  I  am  reading,  with  great 

New  York,  interest,  the  letters  of  Sara  Coleridge.     What  stiikes 

1873.^'     me  most  in  her  is,  that  knowing  so  much  of  her,  one 

still  feels  what  lots  there  is  more  to  her  one  does  not 

know.     22d. — Strangely  enough,  in  writing  you  last  evening,  I 

forgot  to  tell  you  how  much  prayer  is  being  offered  for  you  and 

your  husband,  and  what  intense  sympathy  is  expressed.     J3r. 

Vincent  said  he  could  not  bear  to  hear  another  word  about  his 

»  Prof.  Smith  had  been  suddenly  stricken  down  by  severe  iUness  and  with  difficulty  ro 
moved  to  the  well-known  Sanitarium  at  Clifton  Springs. 


422  THE    LIFE    MRS.   PRENTISS. 

sufferings.     Mrs.  L said,  "  I  do  love  that  man."     Mrs.  D. 

herself  all  knotted  up  with  rheumatism,  would  hardly  speak  oi 
herself  when  she  heard  he  was  so  ill ;  and  this  is  only  a  speci 

men  of  the  deep  feeling  expressed  on  all  sides I  am  glad 

you  find  anything  to  like  in  my  poor  little  book.  I  hear  very 
little  about  it,  but  its  publication  has  brought  a  blessing  to  my 
soul,  w^hich  shows  that  I  did  right  in  thus  making  known  my 
testimony  for  Christ.  My  will  in  the  matter  was  quite  over- 
turned. 

The  "  poor  little  book  "  appeared  under  the  title  of  Relig- 
ious Poems,  afterwards  changed  to  Golden  Hours  ;  Hyjnns  and 
Songs  of  the  Christian  Life.  In  a  letter  of  Mrs.  Prentiss  to  a 
friend,  written  in  1870,  occurs  this  passage  : 

Most  of  my  verses  are  too  much  my  ow^n  personal  expe- 
rience to  be  put  in  print  now.  After  I  am  dead  I  hope  they 
may  serve  as  language  for  some  other  hearts.  After  I  am 
dead  !  That  means,  oh  ravishing  thought !  that  I  shall  be  in 
heaven  one  day. 

Until  the  fall  of  1873  her  husband  and  two  or  three  friends 
only  knew  of  the  existence  of  these  verses,  and  their  publica- 
tion had  not  crossed  her  mind.  But  shortly  after  her  return 
from  Dorset  she  was  persuaded  to  let  Mr.  Randolph  read 
them.     She  soon  received  from  him  the  following  letter : 

The  poems  must  be  printed,  and  at  once  !  "  We  " — that  is,  the  firir 
living  at  Yonkers — read  aloud  all  the  pieces,  except  those  in  the  book,  at 
one  sitting,  and  would  have  gone  on  to  the  end  but  that  the  eyes  gave  out. 
Out  of  the  lot  three  or  four  pieces  were  laid  aside  as  not  up  to  the  standard 
of  the  others.  The  female  member  of  the  firm  said  that  ivlrs.  Prentiss 
would  do  a  wrong  if  she  withheld  the  poems  from  the  public.  This  mem- 
ber said  he  should  give  up  writing,  or  trying  to  write,  religious  verses. 

1  am  not  joking.  The  book  must  be  printed.  We  were  charmed  with 
the  poems.  Some  of  them  have  all  the  quaintness  of  Herbert,  some  the 
sin:  pie  subjectiv-e  fervor  of  the  German  hynms,  and  some  the  glow  ol 
Wesley.  They  are,  as  Mrs.  R.  said,  out  of  the  beaten  way,  ajid  all  true. 
So  I  hey  differ  from  the  conventional  poetry.  If  published,  there  may  be 
here  and  there  some  sentimental  soul,  or  some  soul  without  sentiment,  or 
some  critic  who  doats  on  Robt.  Browning  and  don't  understand  him,  or  on 
Morris,  or  Rossetti,  because  they  are  high  artists,  who  may  snub  the  book, 


PEACEABLE   FRUIT.  4^3 

Very  well  •  for  compensation  you  will  have  the  fact  that  the  poe.  is  will  win 
ior  you  a  living  place  in  the  hearts  of  thousancls-in  a  sanctuary  where  leN% 
are  permitted  to  enter. 

A  day  or  two  later  Mr.  Randolph  wrote  in  reply  to  hci 
misgivings  : 

If  I  had  the  slightest  thought  that  you  would  make  even  a  slight  mis- 
take in  publishing.  I  would  say  so.  As  I  have  already  said.  I  am  sure  that 
the  book  would  prove  a  blessing  in  ten  thousand  ways,  and  at  the  same 
time  add  to  your  reputation  as  a  writer. 

She  could  not  resist  this  appeal.  The  assurance  that  the 
verses  would  prove  a  blessing  to  many  souls  disarmed  her 
scruples  and  she  consented  to  their  publication.  The  most 
of  them,  unfortunately,  bore  no  date.  But  all,  or  nearly  ail 
of  them,  belong  to  the  previous  twenty  years,  and  they  depict 
some  of  the  deepest  experiences  of  her  Christian  life  during 
that  period  ;  they  are  her  tears  of  joy  or  of  sorrow,  her  cries 
of  anguish,  and  her  songs  of  love  and  triumph.  Some  of 
them  were  hastily  written  in  pencil,  upon  torn  scraps  of  paper, 
as  if  she  were  on  a  journey.  Were  they  all  accompanied  with 
the  exact  time  and  circumstances  of  their  composition,  they 
would  form,  in  connection  with  others  unpublished,  her  spir- 
itual autobiography  from  the  death  of  Kddy  and  Bessie,  in 
1852,  to  the  autumn  of  1873.' 

As  she  anticipated,  the  volume  met  in  some  quarters  with 
anything  but  a  cordial  reception  ;  the  criticisms  upon  it  were 
curt  and  depreciatory.  Its  representation  of  the  Christian  life 
was  censured  as  gloomy  and  false.  It  was  even  intimated 
that  in  her  expressions  of  pain  and  sorrow,  there  was  more  or 
less  poetical  affectation.  Alluding  to  this  in  a  letter  to  a 
friend,  she  writes  : 

I  have  spoken  of  the  deepest,  sorest  pain  ;  not  of  trials,  but 
ot  sorrow,  not  of  discomfort,  but  of  suffering.  And  all  I  have 
spoken   of,   I   have  felt.     Never  could    I    have   known   Christ, 

:  Referring  to  the  book  in  a  letter  to  a  friend,  written  shortly  after  it.  publication  sl^ 
^ys  :"'•  Of  course  it  will  meet  with  rouerh  treatment  in  some  quarters,  as  .ndeeJ  . t  ha^ 
2ady  done.  I  doubt  if  any  one  works  very  hard  for  Chnst  who  does  not  have  to  b, 
luisundersttH^d  and  perhaps  mocked." 


424  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    TRENTISS. 

had  I  not  had  large  experience  of  Him  as  a  chasliser. 
You  little  know  the  long  story  of  my  life,  nor  is  it  necessary 
that  you  should  ;  but  you  must  take  my  word  for  it  that  if  I 
do  not  know  what  suffering  means,  there  is  not  a  soul  on  earth 
that  does.  It  has  not  been  my  habit  to  say  much  about  this 
it  has  beim  a  matter  between  myself  and  my  God  ;  but  the 
resu/^s  I  have  told,  that  He  may  be  glorified  and  that  others 
may  be  led  to  Him  as  the  Fountain  of  life  and  of  light.  I 
refer,  of  course,  to  the  book  of  verses  ;  I  never  called  them 
poems.  You  may  depend  upon  it  the  world  is  brimful  of  pain 
in  some  shape  or  other  ;  it  is  a  'Wiur/  world/'  But  no  Christian 
should  go  about  groaning  and  weeping  ;  though  sorrowing,  he 
should  be  always  rejoicing.  During  twenty  years  of  my  'life 
my  kind  and  wise  Physician  was  preparing  me,  by  many  bitter 
remedies,  for  the  work  I  was  to  do  ;  I  can  never  thank  or  love 
Him  enough  for  His  unflinching  discipline. 

Even  the  favorable  notices  of  the  volume,  with  two  or 
three  exceptions,  evinced  little  sympathy  with  its  spirit,  or 
appreciation  of  its  literary  merits.'  But  while  failing  to  make 
any  public  impression,  the  little  book  soon  found  its  way  into 
thousands  of  closets  and  sick-rooms  and  houses  of  mourning, 
carrying  a  blessing  with  it.  Touching  and  grateful  testimonies 
to  this  effect  came  from  the  East  and  the  farthest  West  and 
from  beyond  the  sea.  The  following  is  an  extract  from  a  let- 
ter  to  Mr.  Randolph,  written  by  a  lady  of  New  York  eminent 
for  her  social  influence  and  Christian  character  : 

The  book  of  heart-hymns  is  wonderful,  as  I  expected  from  the  speci- 
mens which  you  read  to  me  from  the  little  scraps  of  paper  from  your  desk 
Do  you  know  that  I  /zv.^d on  them  ("The  School"  and  "My  Expectation 
is  from  Thee  ")  and  was  greedy  to  get  the  book  that  I  might  read  them 
agam  and  again.  And  behold,  the  volume  is  full  of  the  things  I  have  felt 
>  One  of  the  be5t  notices  appeared  in  The  Churchman,  an  Episcopal  newspaper  t]ien 
tiibhshed  at  Hartford,  but  since  transferred  to  New  York.  Here  is  a  part  of  it  • 
"  Frr  purity  of  thought,  earnestness  and  spirituaUty  of  feeling,  and  smoo'thness  of 
dict.on,  they  ara  all,  without  exception,  good-if  they  are  not  great.  If  no  o,>e  rises  tc 
he  height  whKh  other  poets  have  occasionally  reached,  they  are,  nevertheless,  alwavs 
free  from  those  defects  which  sometimes  mar  the  perfectness  of  far  greater  production's. 
Each  portrays  some  human  thirst  or  longing,  and  so  touches  the  heart  of  everv-  thouglit- 
ul  reader  There  is  a  sweetness  running  through  them  all  which  comes  fron.  a  highei 
than  earthly  source,  and  which  human  wisdom  can  neither  produce  nor  enjoy  " 


PEACEABLE    FRUIT.  425 

50  often,  expressed  as  no  one  ever  expressed  them  before.  I  am  over- 
whelmed every  time  I  read  it.     Mr.  and   the  children  have  quite 

laughed  at  "Mamma's  enthusiasm"  over  a  book  of  poems,  as  1  am  con- 
«^\dered  very  prosaic.  I  made  C.  read  two  or  three  of  them  and  he  sur- 
renders, N.  too,  \vho  is  full  of  appreciation  of  poetry  as  well  as  of  the 
best  Ihings,  is  equally  delighted.  I  carried  the  volume  to  a  sick  friend  and 
road  to  her  out  of  it.  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  how  she  was  comforted  ! 
1  do  not  know  Mrs.  Prentiss,  but  if  you  ever  get  a  chance,  1  would  like  you 
to  tell  her  what  she  has  done  for  me. 

A  highly  cultivated  Swiss  lady  wrote  from  Geneva  : 

What  a  precious,  precious  book  !  and  what  mercy  in  God  to  enable  us 
to  understand,  and  say  Amen  from  the  heart  to  every  line  !  It  was  lie  who 
caused  you  to  send*  me  a  book  I  so  much  needed — and  1  thank  Him  a? 
much  as  you. 


IV. 

Incidents  of  the  Year  1874.  Prayer.  Starts  a  Bible-Readinf^  in  Dorset.  Bej^ins  to  talce 
Lessons  in  Painting'.  A  Letter  from  her  Teacher.  Publication  of  Urbane  and  his 
Frie7tds.  Design  of  the  Work.  Her  views  of  the  Christian  Life.  The  Mystics. 
The  Indwelling  Christ.     An  Allegory. 

During  the  winter  and  early^  spring  of  1874  ^Irs.  Trent isj 
found  much  deHght  in  attending  a  weekly  Bible-reading,  hekl 
by  Miss  Susan  Warner.  She  was  deeply  impressed  with  the 
advantages  of  such  a  mode  of  studying  the  Word  of  God,  and 
in  the  course  of  the  summer  was  led  to  start  a  similar  exercise 
in  Dorset.  Her  letters  will  show^  how  much  satisfaction  it 
gave  her  during  all  the  rest  of  her  life. 

Another  incident,  that  left  its  mark  upon  this  year,  was 
the  sudden  and  dangerous  illness  of  her  husband.  His  life 
was  barely  saved  by  an  immediate  surgical  operation.  He 
convalesced  very^  slowly^  and  it  was  man\'  months  before  she 
recovered  from  the  shock. 

I  do  not  perfectly  understand  what  you  say  about  prayer, 

To  a  Chris-  but  it  reminds  me  of  JNIrs. 's  expressing  surprise 

^'^rn^^sf'  ^t  "^y  pi'-\ving.  She  said  she  did  not,  because  Christ 
1874.        was  all  round  her.    But  it  is  no  less  a  fact  that  Christ 


426  THE   LIFE   OF    MRS.    PRENTISS. 

Himself  spent  hours  in  prayer,  using  language  when  He  did 
so.  That  does  not  prove,  however,  that  He  did  not  hold  silent, 
mystical  communion  with  the  Father.  It  seems  to  me  that 
communion  is  one  thing,  and  intercessory  prayer  another  ;  my 
own  prayers  are  chiefly  of  the  latter  class  ;  the  sweet  sense  of 
communion  of  which  I  have  had  so  much,  has  been  greatly 
wanting  ;  I  dare  not  ask  for  it ;  I  must  pray  as  the  Spirit  gives 
me  utterance.  No  doubt  your  experience  is  beyond  mine  ;  I 
can  conceive  of  a  silence  that  unites,  not  separates,  as  existing 
between  Christ  and  the  soul.  As  to  her  of  whom  we  sadly 
spoke,  I  am  so  absolutely  lost  in  confusion  of  thought  that  I 
feel  as  if  chart  and  compass  had  gone  overboard.  I  believe 
there  can  be  falls  from  the  highest  state  of 'grace,  and  that 
sometimes  a  fall  is  the  best  thing  that  can  happen  to  one  ;  but 
it  is  an  appalling  thought.  How  wary  all  this  should  make 
you  and  me  !  .  .  .  .  Though  I  have  felt  the  greatest  respect  for 

Miss ,  I  have  often  wondered  why  I  did  not  love  her  more. 

Well,  we  have  a  new  reason  for  fleeing  to  Christ  in  this  per- 
plexity and  disappointment.  I  had  let  her  be  in  many  things 
my  oracle,  and  perhaps  no  human  being  ought  to  be  that. 
Shall  we  ever  learn  to  put  no  confidence  in  the  flesh  ?  My  hus- 
band thinks  Miss insane. 

The  comfort  I  have  had  as  the  fruit  of  close  acquaintance 

with  a  sick-room  !     I  see  more  and   more  how  ivis6 

a  young      God  was,   as  well  as  how  good,   in  hiding  me  away 

Fric7id  Jan.  (j^jj-inQr   all    the    vears    that    miarht   have   been   very 

27,  107^.  &  ,  O  J 

tem.pting,  had  I  had  my  freedom.  My  publishing 
this  book  ^  was  a  sort  of  miracle  ;  I  never  meant  to  do  it,  but 
my  will  was  taken  away  and  it  was  done  in  one  short  month. 
I  should  not  expect  a  girl  as  young  as  yourself  to  respond  to 
much  of  it,  but  I  am  glad  you  found  anything  to  which  you 
could When  I  received  my  own  great  blessing  thirty- 
five  years  ago,  I  was  younger  than  you  are  now,  and  hadn't 
half  the  light  you  have,  nor  did  I  know  exactly  what  to  aim  at, 

but  blundered  and  suffered  not  a  little It  seems  to  me 

that  it  is  eminently  fitting  that  we  should  go  to  the  throne  of 
grace  together,  and  expect,  in  so  doing,  a  different  kind  of 
blessing  from  that  sought  alone,  in  the  closet.      I  never  feel 

*  Goldai  Hours, 


TKACEABT.E    FRUIT.  427 

any  embarrassment  in  praying  with  those  older  and  better  than 
myself  ;  the  better  they  are,  the  less  disposed  they  will  be  to 
look  down  upon  me.  Tlie  truth  is,  we  are  all  alike  in  being 
poor  and  needy,  and  it  is  a  good  thing  to  get  together  and 
confess  this  to  our  Father,  in  each  other's  hearing.  I  can  unit 
coi"dially  witli  anyone,  man,  woman  or  child,  who  rcaUy  j^ravs. 
A  very  illiterate  person  could  win  my  heart  if  I  knew  he  truly 
loved  the  Lord  Jesus,  no  matter  how  clurasily  he  expressed 
that  love  ;  and  his  prayers  would  edify  me.  Perhaps  you  can 
not  look  at  this  matter  exactly  as  I  do.  I  know  I  suffered  iox 
years,  whenever  I  prayed  with  others,  old  or  young  ;  but  I  per- 
severed in  what  I  believed  to  be  a  duty,  until,  not  so  very  long 
ago,  the  duty  became  a  pleasure,  all  fear  of  man  being  taken 
away.  I  never  think  anything  about  what  sort  of  a  prayer  I 
make  ;  in  fact  /  make  no  prayer  ;  we  have  to  speak  as  the 
Spirit  gives  us  utterance. 

Yesterday  Miss  H.  came  down  and  asked  me  if  I  would  start 
a  Bible-reading  at   her   house.     I   told    her  I  would 
To  Mrs,    with  pleasure.     This  morning  I  decided  to  open  with 
Kauinjeis,^  the  Scrmou  on  the  Mount,  and  have  been  studying 
^is-/^'    ^^"^^  ^^^^  promise.     Do  take  your  Bible  and  study  that 
verse  by  reading  the  references.     I  am  del  lighted  that 
our  dear  Lord   has  at  last  pointed  out  my  mission  to  this  vil- 
lage.    I  have  long  prayed  that  He  would  open  a  way  of  access 
to  hearts  here.     Pray  next  Wednesday  afternoon  that  I  may  l)e 
a  witness  for  Him.     There  are  a  number  of  families  boarding  in 
town,  who  will  join  the  reading.    Miss  H.  wanted  to  give  notice 

from  the  pulpit,  but  I  could  not  consent  to  that You  say 

your  mother  asks  about  my  book.  It  is  a  queer  one,  and  I  am 
not  satisfied  with  it  ;  but  my  husband  is,  and  thinks  it  will  do 
good.  God  grant  it  may.  I  entitle  it  Paths  of  Peace  ;  or, 
Christian  Friends  in  Council.'  After  the  most  earnest  prayer 
for  light,  I  can  not  preach  sinless  perfection.  I  think  Ciod  has 
provided  a  way  to  perfection,  and  that  that  is,  **  looking  unto 
lesus."  If  the  ''higher  life"  means  utter  sinlessness  then  I 
shall  have  to  own  that  I  have  never  had  any  experience  of  it. 
Mr.  P.  has  given  me  a  world   of  anxiety.     He  will   go   round 

*  The  name  f,nven  to  the  Dorset  home. 

»  Afterwards  changed  to  Urbane  and  His  Fricuds. 


4^8  TITR   LIFE   OF    MRS.  PRENTISS. 

everywhere,  even  on  jolting  straw-rides  ;  his  wound  is  nearly 
healed,  however.  He  is  looking  the  picture  of  health,  but  feels 
uncomfortable  and  sleeps  restlessly.  I  went  up  to  the  tavern 
lately  as  a  great  piece  of  self-denial  to  call  on  a  lady  boarding 
there,  and  found  I  had  thus  stumbled  on  to  fine  gold  ;  the  gold 
you  and  I  love.     She  is  the  wife  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  R.,  of  Flushing, 

Soon  after  returning  to  town  she  began  to  take  lessons  in 
oil  painting.  Her  teacher  was  Mrs.  Julia  H.  Beers— now  Mrs. 
Kempson— a  lady  gifted  with  much  of  the  artistic  power  be- 
longing  to  her  distinguished  brothers,  William  and  James  M. 
Hart.  In  this  new  pursuit  Mrs.  Prentiss  passed  many  very 
busy  and  happy  hours.  The  following  letter  to  her  husband 
gives  Mrs.  Kempson's  recollections  of  them: 

FiRTREE  Cottage,  Metuchen,  Jan.  27,  1880. 

My  Dear  Dr.  Prentiss  :— When  the  news  came  of  Mrs.  Prentiss'  death 
I  felt  that  I  had  lost  a  friend  whose  place  could  not  be  filled.  I  never  had  a 
pupil  in  whom  I  was  so  much  interested,  or  one  that  I  loved  so  dearly.  She 
has  told  me  many  times  that  "  the  daj^s  spent  with  me  were  red-letter  days 
in  her  life."  They  certainly  were  in  my  own.  1  shall  never  forget  her  first 
visit  to  my  studio  on  the  corner  of  Fifth  avenue  and  Twenty-sixth  street. 
We  had  not  met  before,  and  I  felt  somewhat  awed  in  the  presence  of  an 
authoress.  But  in  a  few  minutes  we  were  fast  friends.  Taking  one  of  my 
portfolios  in  her  arms  she  asked,  "  May  I  sit  down  on  the  floor  and  take  this 
in  my  lap }  "  Of  course  I  assented.  She  pored  over  the  contents  with 
the  delight  of  a  child.  Then  turning  to  me  she  said,  "  This  is  what  I  have 
had  a  craving  for  all  my  life.  There  has  always  been  a  want  unsupplied  ;  I 
knew  not  what  it  was  ;  but  now  I  know.  It  was  a  reaching  out  for  the  beau- 
tiful. Look  at  my  white  hair  and  tell  me  if  it  would  be  possible  for  me  to 
learn."  1  replied,  "Yes,  if  you  desire  to  do  so."  "  Will  you  take  me  for  a 
pupil  }  "  she  asked.  "  I  do  not  know  which  end  of  the  brush  to  use."  "  Nc 
matter,"  I  said  ;  "  I  can  teach  you." 

She  became  my  pupil  and  you  know  the  result.  But  you  can  not  know 
ai  I  do,  the  delight  she  took  in  her  studies.  j\Iy  ordinary  pupils  were  lim- 
ited to  two  hours.  But  I  said  to  her,  "  Come  at  ten  and  stay  as  long  as  you 
please."  Punctual  to  the  moment  she  carr.e,  seated  herself  at  her  easel, 
and  rarely  left  it  while  the  light  lasted.  I  never  saw  such  enthusiasm  or 
such  appreciation.  At  first  her  progress  was  slow,  but  as  she  gained  knowl- 
edge of  the  materials,  it  became  very  rapid.  In  my  opinion  she  had  remark- 
able talent,  and,  if  spared,  might  even  have  made  herself  a  name  as  an  art- 
ist.     1  have  had  hundreds  of  pupils,  but  not  one  of  them  ever  made  such 


TEACEABLE   FRUIT.  429 

* 
progress.  What  a  delight  it  was  to  teacli  her  !  All  her  quaint  sayings  and 
her  beautifully  expressed  thoughts  I  treasured  up  as  precious  things.  She 
always  brought  brightness  to  the  studio  with  her.  I  can  see  her  s?  plainly 
this  moment  as  she  came  in  one  morning.  "  Well,"  she  said,  "  1  thought 
when  I  commenced  painting  if  ever  1  painted  a  daisy  that  did  not  need  to 
be  labeled,  I  should  be  proud,  and  I  have  done  it."  I  wish,  dear  Dr.  Prentiss, 
I  could  recall  the  thousand  and  one  pleasant  things  that  eveiy  now  and  then 
have  occurred  to  me,  while  I  was  thinking  of  her.  I  tried  to  write  to  you 
when  I  heard  of  your  great  loss,  but  my  heart  failed  me.  I  could  not,  nor 
can  I,  imagine  you  living  without  her.  In  her  last  letter  to  me  she  says, 
speaking  of  my  daughter's  marriage  : 

I  hope  thirty  years  hence  the  twain  w-ill  be  as  much  in  love  with  each  other  as  two  old 
codgers  of  my  acquaintance,  who  go  on  talking  heavenly  nonsense  to  each  other  after 
the  most  approved  fashion. 

How  little  I  then  dreamsd  that  we  should  never  meet  again  !  I  should 
much  like  to  see  you  all.  I  have  not  forgotten  that  pleasant  summer  at 
Dorset  in  1S75,  nor  the  great  pan  of  blackberries  you  picked  for  me  with 
your  own  hands. 

With  kindest  regards,  very  sincerely, 

Julia  H.  Kempson. 

After  learning  how  to  manage  a  "  Bible-reading"  by  attend- 
ing Miss  Warner's  once  a  week  for  four  or  five  months, 

Hmnpln-ey 
Neil)  York. 
Dec,  1874.  ,       ,  ,  /■  11 

summer,  and  ladies,  young  and  old,  came  from  all 
directions,  not  only  to  the  readings,  but  with  tears  to  open 
their  hearts  to  me.  Some  hitherto  worldly  ones  were  among 
the  number.  I  have  also  helped  to  start  one  at  Elizabeth,  an- 
other at  Orange,  another  at  Flushing.  My  husband  says  if 
one  were  held  in  every  church  in  the  land  the  country  would 
be  revolutionised.  It  is  just  such  work  as  you  would  delight 
in.  Do  forgive  the  blots  ;  I  am  tearing  away  on  this  letter  so 
that  I  forget  myself  and  dip  up  too  much  ink.  I  have  been 
urged  to  hold  three  readings  a  week  in  different  parts  of  the 
city,  but  that  is  not  possible.  You  can't  imagine  how  thankful 
\  am  that  I  have  at  last  found  a  sphere  of  usefulness  in  Dorset. 
We  had  a  great  shock  last  spring  when  Mr.  Prentiss  was 
stiicken  down  ;  I  do  not  dare  to  think  how  hard  it  would  have 
been  to  become  husbandless  and  homeless  at  one  blow.  But  1 
well  know  that  no  earthly  circumstances  need  really  destroy  our 
happiness  in  that  which  is,  after  all,  our  Life.    Even  if  it  is  only 


'^o  Mrs.    J  ^^^  ^^^  tongue  so  loosed  that  I  have  held  one  by 
NeioYork,  request  at  Dorset.     The  interest  in  it  did  not  flag  all 


430  THE    LIFE    OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

for  the  few  years  before  our  boys  leave  home,  never  to  retuin 
permanently  to  it,  I  shall  be  thankful  to  have  it  left  as  it  is— il 
that  is  best.  If  I  had  not  known  what  my  husband's  trouble 
was,  and  summoned  aid  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  Dr.  Buck 
says  he  would  have  died.  He  would  certainly  have  died  if  he 
had  been  at  Dorset.  He  has  never  recovered  his  strength,  bui 
is  able  to  give  his  lectures.  Although  I  did  very  little  nursing, 
I  got  a  good  deal  run  down,  especially  from  losing  sleep,  and 
liave  had  to  go  to  bed  at  half-past  eight  or  nine  all  summer 
and  thus  far  in  the  Avinter. 

I  am  taking  lessons  this  winter  in  oil-painting  with  A.  She 
has  the  advantage  of  me  in  having  had  lessons  in  drawing, 
while  I  have  had  none.  My  teacher  says  she  never  had  a  be- 
ginner do  better  than  I,  so  I  think  beginners  ver}^  awkward 
mortals,  Avho  get  paint  all  over  their  clothes,  hands  and  faces, 
and  who,  if  they  get  a  pretty  picture,  know  in  the  secrecy  of 
their  guilty  consciences  it  was  done  by  a  compassionate  artist 
who  w^ould  fain  persuade  one  into  the  fancy  that  the  work  was 
one's  own. 

What  you  say  about  my  having  done  you  good  surprises 
me.     Whatever  treasure  God  has  in  me  is  hidden  in  an  earthen 

vessel  and  unseen  by  my  own  eyes I  feel  every  day  how 

much  there  is  to  learn,  how  much  to  unlearn,  and  that  no 
genuine  experience  is  to  be  despised.  Some  people  roundly 
berate  Christians  for  want  of  faith  in  God's  word,  when  it  is 
want  of  faith  in  their  own  private  interpretation  of  His  word.  1 
think  that  when  the  very  best  and  wisest  of  mankind  get  to 
heaven,  they'll  get  a  standard  of  holiness  that  might  make  them 
blush  ;  only  it  is  not  likely  they  7a//I  blush. 

In  the  latter  part  of  this  year  [/rdrnie  and  His  Frimds  ap- 
peared. Urbane  is  an  aged  pastor  and  his  Friends  are  mem- 
bers  of  his  flock,  whom  he  had  invited  to  meet  him  from  week 
to  week  for  Christian  counsel  and  fellowship.  Some  of  their 
names,  Antiochus,  Hermes,  Junia,  Claudia,  Apelles  and  the 
ike,  sound  rather  strange,  but,  together  with  those  more  fa- 
nnhar,  they  arc  all  borrowed  from  the  New  Testament. 

Urbane  and  His  Friends  is  the  only  book  of  a  didactic  sort 
written  by  Mrs.  Prentiss.  It  is  not,  however,  wholly  didactic, 
but  contains  also  touclics  of  narrative  and  character  that  add 


PEACEABLE   FRUIT.  43 > 

to  its  interest.  Among  the  topics  discussed  are  :  The  Bible, 
Temptation,  Faith,  Pra)'er,  the  Mystics,  "The  Higher  Chris- 
tian  Life,"  Service,  Pain  and  Sorrow,  Peace  and  Joy,  and  the 
ladweUinc:  Christ.  She  was  dissatisfied  with  the  work  and 
required  some  persuasion  before  she  would  consent  to  its 
being  published.  But  its  spiritual  tone,  its  tenderness,  its 
"sweet  reasonableness,"  and  the  bright  little  pictures  of 
Christian  truth  and  life,  which  enliven  its  pages,  have  led 
some  to  prize  it  more  than  any  other  of  her  writings. 

And  here  it  may  not  be  out  of  place  to  insert  the  follow- 
ing letter  of  her  husband,  written  several  months  after  her 
death.  It  gives  her  matured  views  on  certain  points  relating 
to  the  Christian  life,  about  which  there  has  been  no  little  dif- 
ference of  opinion  : 

New  York,  April  i6,  1879. 

My  Dear  Friend  : — Many  thanks  for  your  kind  words  ahout  Urbane 
and  His  Friends.  So  far  at  least  as  the  aim  and  spirit  of  the  book  are  con- 
cerned, no  praise  could  exceed  its  merits.  It  was  written  with  a  single 
desire  to  honor  Christ  by  aiding  and  cheering  some  of  His  disciples  on  their 
way  heavenward.  At  that  time,  as  you  know,  there  was  a  good  deal  of 
discussion  about  "the  Higher  Christian  Life"  and  "Holiness  through 
Faith."  She  herself  had  felt  some  of  the  difficulties  connected  with  ihe 
subject,  and  was  anxious  to  reach  out  a  helping  hand  to  others  similarly 
perplexed.  I  do  not  think  her  mind  was  specially  adapted  to  the  didactic 
style,  nor  was  it  much  to  her  taste.  When  writing  in  that  style  her  pen 
did  not  seem  to  be  entirely  at  ease,  or  to  move  quite  at  its  own  sweet  will. 
Careful  statement  and  nice  theological  distinctions  were  not  her  forte. 
And  yet  her  mental  grasp  of  Christian  doctrine  in  its  vital  substance  was 
very  firm,  and  her  power  of  observing,  as  well  as  depicting,  the  most  deli- 
cate and  varying  phenomena  of  the  spiritual  life  was  like  an  instinct.  A 
purer  or  more  whole-hearted  love  of  "  the  truth  as  it  is  in  Jesus,"  I  never 
witnessed  in  any  human  being.  At  the  same  time  she  was  very  modest 
and  distrustful  of  her  own  judgment  when  opposed  to  that  of  others  whom 
she  regarded  as  experienced  Christians.  I  wish  you  could  enjoy  a  tithe  ot 
the  happiness  that  was  mine  during  the  winter  and  spring  of  1873-4,  as, 
evening  alter  evening,  she  talked  over  with  me  the  various  points  discussed 
in  her  book,  and  then  read  to  me  what  she  had  written.  Those  were 
golden  hours  indeed— hours  in  which  was  fulfilled  the  saying  th;.t  is  writ- 
ten  A7id  it  came  to  pass  that  while  thty  communed  together  and  reasoned^ 

Jesus  Himself  drew  near.     As  1  look  back  to  the  Sabbath  evenings  passed 
with  her  in  such  converse,  they  seem  to  me  radiant  still  with  the  glory  ol 
the  risen  Chnst.     Nor  am  I  able  to  imagine  what  else  than   His  presence 
ould  have  rendeied  them,  at  the  time,  so  soothing  and  blissful. 


432  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

Ycu  refer  to  her  fondness  for  the  mystics.  She  thought  that  Christiat 
piety  owes  a  large  debt  of  gratitude  to  such  writers  as  Thomas  a  Kempis, 
Madame  Guyon,  Fenelon,  Leighton,  Tersteegen,  and  others  like  them  in 
earlier  and  later  times,  to  whom  "the  secret  of  the  Lord  "  seemed  in  a  \k^ 
culiar  manner  to  have  been  revealed,  and  who  with  seraphic  zeal  trod  as 
well  as  taught  the  paths  of  peace  and  holiness.  While  she  was  writing  (he 
chapter  on  the  Mystics,  I  showed  her  Coleridge's  tribute  to  them  in  his 
Biographia  Literaria,  which  greatly  pleased  her.  It  is  her  own  experience 
that  she  puts  into  the  mouth  of  Urbane,  where  he  says,  after  quoting  Cole- 
ridge's tribute,  "  I  have  no  recollection  of  ever  reading  this  passage  till  to- 
day, but  had  tozVed  out  its  truth  for  myself,  and  now  set  my  hand  and  seal 
to  it."  ^  It  is  for  her,  too,  as  well  as  for  himself,  that  Urbane  speaks,  where^ 
in  answer  to  Hermes'  question,  "  Who  are  the  Mystics  ^  "  he  says  : 

They  are  the  men  and  women  known  to  every  age  of  the  Church,  who  usually  make 
their  way  through  the  world  completely  misunderstood  by  their  fellow-men.  Their  very 
virtues  sometimes  appear  to  be  vices.  They  are  often  the  scorn  and  contempt  of  their 
time,  and  are  even  persecuted  and  thrown  into  prison  by  those  who  think  they  thus  dc 
our  Lord  service.  But  now  and  then  one  arises  who  sees,  or  thinks  he  sees,  some  clue  to 
their  lives  and  their  speech.  Though  not  of  them,  he  feels  a  mysterious  kinship  to  them 
that  makes  him  shrink  with  pain  when  he  hears  them  spoken  of  unjustly.  Now,  1  hap- 
pen to  be  such  a  man.  I  have  not  built  up  any  pet  theory  that  I  want  to  sustain  ;  I  am 
not  in  any  way  bound  to  fight  for  any  school ;  but  I  should  be  most  ungrateful  to  God 
and  man  if  I  did  not  acknowledge  that  I  owe  much  of  the  sum  and  substance  of  the  best 
part  of  my  life  to  mystical  writers — aye,  and  mystical  thinkers,  whom  I  know  in  the  flesh, 
....  I  use  Christ  as  a  magnet,  and  say  to  all  who  cleave  to  Him — even  when  1  can  not 
perfectly  agree  with  them  on  every  point  of  doctrine  :  You  love  Christ,  therefore  1  love 
you. 

Closely  allied  to  her  fondness  for  the  Mystics  was  her  delight  in  the  doc- 
trine of  the  indwelling  Christ.  For  more  than  thirty  years  it  was  a  favorite 
subject  of  our  Sunday  and  week-day  talk.  The  closing  chapters  of  the  Gos- 
pel of  John,  the  Epistle  to  the  Ephesians,  and  other  parts  of  the  New  Tes- 
tament, in  which  this  most  precious  truth  is  enshrined,  were  especially  dear 
to  her.  So  too,  and  for  the  same  reason,  was  Lavater's  hymn  beginning, 
O  Jesus  Christus,  wachs  in  mir — 

»  The  passage  from  Coleridge  is  as  follows  :  "  Tlie  feeling  of  gratitude  which  I  cherish 
towards  these  men  has  caused  me  to  digress  further  than  I  had  foreseen  or  proposed  ;  but 
to  have  passed  them  over  in  an  historical  sketch  of  my  literary  life  and  opinions,  would 
have  seemed  like  the  denial  of  a  debt,  the  concealment  of  a  boon;  for  the  writings  o! 
these  mystics  acted  in  no  slight  degree  to  prevent  my  mind  from  being  imprisoned  within 
the  outline  of  any  dogmatic  system.  They  contributed  to  keep  alive  the  /iea7-t  in  the 
ftead ;  gave  me  an  indistinct,  yet  stirring  and  working  presentiment  that  all  the  products 
of  the  mere  reflective  faculty  partook  of  death,  and  were  as  the  rattling  of  twigs  and 
sprays  in  winter,  into  which  a  sap  was  yet  to  be  propelled  from  some  root  to  which  I  liad 
not  penetrated,  if  they  were  to  afford  my  soul  either  food  or  shelter.  If  they  were  too 
often  a  moving  cloud  of  smoke  to  me  by  day,  yet  they  were  always  a  pillar  of  fire  through- 
out the  night,  during  my  wanderings  tlirough  the  wilderness  of  doubt,  and  enabled  me  to 
.skirt,  without  crossing,  the  sandy  desert  of  utter  unbelief." 


PEACEABLE   FRUIT.  433 

a  hymn  with  which  we  became  acquainted  soon  after  our  marriage,  and 
which  I  do  not  doubt  she  repeated  to  herself  many  thousands  of  times.' 

The  surest  way,  as  she  thought,  of  rising  above  the  bondage  of  "  frames  " 
and  entering  into  the  glorious  liberty  of  the  sons  of  God,  is  to  become  fully 
conscious  of  our  actual  union  to  Christ  and  of  what  is  involved  in  this 
thrice-sacred  union.  It  is  not  enough  that  we  trust  in  Him  as  our  Saviour 
and  the  Lord  our  Righteousness;  He  must  also  dwell  in  our  hearts  by  failh 
as  our  spiritual  life.  The  union  is  indeed  mystical  and  indescribable,  but 
none  the  less  real  or  less  joy-inspiring  for  all  that.  We  want  no  metaphor 
and  no  mere  abstraction  in  our  souls  ;  we  want  Christ  Himself.  We  want 
to  be  able  to  say  in  sublime  contradiction,  "  I  live,  yet  not  I,  but  Christ  liv- 
eth  in  me."  And  this,  too,  is  the  way  of  sanctification,  as  well  as  of  rest  of 
conscience.  For  just  in  proportion  as  Christ  lives  in  the  soul,  self  goes  out 
and  with  it  sin.  Just  in  proportion  as  self  goes  out.  Christ  comes  in,  and 
with  Him  righteousness,  peace,  and  joy  in  the  Holy  Ghost. 

But  as,  in  her  view,  the  doctrine  of  an  indwelling  Christ  did  not  sup- 
plant the  doctrine  of  an  atoning  and  interceding  Christ,  so  neither  did  it 
supplant  that  of  Christ  as  our  Example  or  annul  the  great  law  of  self-sacri- 
fice by  which,  following  in  His  steps,  we  also  are  to  be  made  perfect 
through  suffering. 

Such  is  a  brief  outline  of  her  teaching  on  this  subject  in  Urbane  and  His 
friends.  And  from  its  publication  until  her  death,  her  theory  of  the  way 
of  holiness  reduced  itself  more  and  more  to  these  two  simple  points  :  Christ 
in  the  flesh  showing  and  teaching  us  how  to  live,  and  Christ  in  the  Spirit 
living  in  us.  And  this  presence  of  Christ  in  the  soul  she  regarded,  I  repeat, 
as  an  actual,  as  well  as  actuating,  presence;  mediated  indeed,  like  His  sac- 
rifice upon  the  cross,  by  the  Holy  Ghost.  But,  as  "  through  the  Eternal 
Spirit  He  offered  Himself  without  spot  unto  God,"  even  so.  in  and  through 
the  same  Eternal  Spirit,  He  Himself  comes  and  takes  up  His  abode  in  the 
hearts  of  His  faithful  disciples.  His  indwelling  is  not  a  mere  metaphor,  not 
a  bare  moral  relation,  but  the  most  blessed  reality — a  veritable  union  of  life 
and  love.  She  thought  that  much  of  the  meaning  and  comfort  of  the  doc- 
trine was  sometimes  lost  by  not  keeping  this  point  in  mind.  In  a  letter 
written  not  long  before  her  death,  she  reiterated  very  strongly  her  convic- 
tion on  this  subject,  appealing  to  our  Lord's  teaching  in  the  seventeenth 
chapter  of  John.^ 

And  this  brings  me  to  what  you  say  about  the  chapter  entitled  The 
Mystics  of  To-day;  or,  "The  Higher  Christian  Life,"  and  to  your  inquiry 
as  to  her  later  views  on  the  question.  You  are  quite  right  in  supposing  that 
while  writing  this  chapter  she  had  a  good  deal  of  sympathy  with  some  ot 
the  advocates  of  the  "Higher  Life"  doctrine.     She  heartily  agreed  with 

'  See  her  translation  of  the  hymn  in  Goldat  Hours,  p.  123.    The  original  will  be  found 
in  appendix  C,  p.  540. 
"^  I  in  them  and  Thou  in  me,  that  they  may  be  made  perfect  in  on?,  — V.  33. 

28  » 


434  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

them  in  believing  that  it  is  the  privilege  of  Christ's  disciples  to  rise  to  a 
much  higher  state  of  holy  love,  assurance,  and  rest  of  soul  than  the  most  oi 
them  seem  ever  to  reach  in  this  world;  and  further,  that  such  a  spiritual 
uplifting  may  come,  and  sometimes  does  come,  in  the  way  of  a  sudden  and 
extraordinary  experience.  But  it  is  never  without  a  histor}\  She  gives  a 
beautiful  picture  of  such  an  experience  in  the  case  of  Stephanas,  who  was 
*'as  gay  as  any  boy,"  and  then  adds:  "Now,  the  descent  of  the  blessing 
was  sudden  and  lifted  him  at  once  into  a  new  world,  but  the  preparation 
i'jr  it  had  been  going  on  ever  since  he  learned  to  pray." 

But  while  agreeing  with  the  advocates  of  the  Higher  Life  doctrine  in 
some  points,  she  was  far  from  agreeing  with  them  in  all.  And  her  disagree- 
ment increased  and  grew  more  decided  in  her  later  years.  The  subject  is 
often  alluded  to  in  her  letters  to  Christian  friends  ;  and  should  these  letters 
ever  be  published,  they  will  answer  your  inquiry  much  better  than  I  can  do. 
The  points  in  the  "Higher  Life"  and  "Holiness  through  Faith"  \iews 
which  she  most  strongly  dissented  from,  related  to  the  question  of  perfection. 
The  Christian  life — this  was  her  view — is  subject  to  the  great  law  of 
growth.  It  is  a  process,  an  education,  and  not  a  mere  volition,  or  series  oi 
volitions.  Its  progress  may  be  rapid,  but,  ideally  considered,  each  new 
stage  is  conditioned  by  the  one  that  went  before ;  ^rs/  the  blade,  then  the 
ear,  after  that  the  full  corn  in  the  ear.  It  embraces  the  whole  spirit  and 
soul  and  body;  and  its  perfect  development,  therefore,  is  a  very  comprehen- 
sive thing,  touching  the  length  and  breadth,  the  depth  and  height  of  our 
entire  being.  It  is  also,  in  its  very  nature,  conflict  as  well  as  growth  ;  the 
forces  of  evil  must  be  vanquished,  and  these  forces,  whether  acting  through 
body,  soul,  or  spirit,  are  very  subtle,  treacherous,  and  often  occult,  as  well 
as  very  potent ;  the  best  man  on  earth,  if  left  to  himself,  would  fall  a  prey  to 
them.  No  fact  of  religious  experience  is  more  striking  than  this,  that  the 
higher  men  rise  in  real  goodness — the  nearer  they  come  to  God,  the  more 
keen-eyed  and  distressed  are  they  to  detect  evil  in  themselves.  Their  sense 
of  sin  seems  to  be  in  a  sort  of  inverse  ratio  to  their  freedom  from  its  power 
And  we  meet  with  a  similar  fact  in  the  natural  life.  The  finer  and  more 
exalted  the  sentiment  of  purity  and  honor,  the  more  sensitive  will  one  be 
to  the  slightest  approach  to  what  is  impure  or  dishonorable  in  one's  own 
character  and  conduct.  Such  is  substantially  her  ground  of  dissent  from 
the  "  Higher  Life  "  theory.  Her  own  sense  of  sin  was  so  profound  and  vivid 
that  she  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  claiming  perfection  for  herself;  and  it 
seemed  to  her  a  very  sad  delusion  lor  anybod  v  else  to  claim  it.  True  holiness 
is  never  self-conscious;  it  does  not  look  at  itself  in  the  glass  ;  and  if  it  did, 
it  would  see  only  Christ,  not  itself,  reflected  there.  This  was  her  way  ot 
looking  at  the  subject;  and  she  came  to  regard  all  theories,  still  more  all 
professions,  of  entire  sanctification  as  fallacious  and  full  of  peril — not  a  help, 
but  a  serious  hindrance  to  real  Christian  holiness.  For  several  years  she 
net  only  read  but  carefully  studied  the  most  noted  writers  who  advocated 


PEACEABLE   FRUIT.  435 

the  "  Higher  Life  "  and  "  Holiness  through  Faith  "  doctrines,  and  her  testi- 
niony  was  that  they  had  done  her  harm.  "  I  find  myself  spiritually  injured 
by  them,"  she  wrote  to  a  friend  less  than  two  years  before  her  death.  "  How 
do  you  explain  the  fact,"  she  added,  "that  truly  good  people  are  left  to  pro- 
duce such  an  effect  ?  Is  it  not  to  shut  us  up  to  Christ  ?  What  a  reliel  it 
vv'ill  be  to  get  beyond  our  own  weaknesses,  and  those  of  otheis  i  I  long  for 
that  day." 

I  have  just  alluded  to  her  deep,  vivid  consciousness,  of  sin.  It  would 
have  been  an  intolerable  burden,  had  not  her  feeling  of  God's  infinite  grace 
a.iid  love  in  Christ  been  still  more  vivid  and  profound.  The  little  allegory 
in  the  ninth  chapter  of  Urbane  and  His  Friends  expresses  ver>'  happily  this 
feeling. 

There  are  several  other  points  in  her  theory  of  the  Christian  life,  to 
which  she  attached  much  importance.  One  is  the  close  connexion  between 
suffering  in  some  form  and  holiness,  or  growth  in  grace.  The  cross  the 
way  to  the  crown— this  thought  runs,  like  a  golden  thread,  through  all  the 
records  of  her  religious  history.  She  expressed  it  while  a  little  girl,  as  she 
sat  one  day  with  a  young  friend  on  a  tombstone  in  the  old  burying-ground 
at  Portland.  It  occurs  again  and  again  in  her  early  letters ;  in  one  written 
m  1840  she  says  :  "  I  thought  to  myself  that  if  God  continued  His  faithful- 
ness towards  me,  I  shall  have  afflictions  such  as  I  now  know  nothing  more 
of  than  the  name  ";  in  another  written  four  years  later,  in  the  midst  of  the 
sweetest  joy:  "  I  know  there  are  some  of  the  great  lessons  of  life  yet  to  be 
leai  ned  ;  I  believe  I  must  suffer  as  long  as  I  have  an  earthly  existence." 
And  in  after  years,  when  it  formed  so  large  an  element  in  her  own  experi-' 
ence,  she  came  to  regard  suffering,  when  sanctified  by  the  word  of  God 
and  by  prayer,  as  the  King's  highway  to  Christian  perfection.  This  point 
is  often  referred  to  and  illustrated  in  her  various  writings— more  especially 
in  b;tepping  Heavenward  and  Golden  Hours.  Possibly  she  carried  her 
theory  a  little  too  far ;  perhaps  it  does  not  appear  to  be  always  verified  in 
actual  Christian  experience ;  but,  certainly,  no  one  can  deny  that  it  is  in 
harmony  with  the  general  teaching  of  inspired  Scripture  and  with  the  spirit 
of  catholic  piety  in  all  ages.* 

Another  point,  which  also  found  illustration  in  her  books,  is  the  vital 
connexion  between  the  habit  of  devout  communion  with  God  in  Christ  and 
all  the  daily  virtues  and  charities  of  religion  ;  another  still  is  the  close  aftin- 
ity  between  depth  in  piety  and  the  highest,  sweetest  enjoyment  of  carihly 
good. 

Her  own  Christian  life  was  to  me  a  study  from  the  beginning.  It  had 
heights  and  depths  of  its  own,  which  awed  me  and  which  1  could  not  fully 
I  There  should  be  no  greater  comfort  to  Christian  persons,  than  to  be  made  like  uuto 
Cliiist,  by  suffering  patiently  adversities,  troubles,  and  sicknesses.  For  He  himself  went 
not  up  to  joy,  but  first  He  suffered  pain  ;  He  entered  not  into  His  glory,  before  He  wai 
crucified.  So  truly  our  way  to  eternal  joy  is  to  suffer  here  with  Christ.— (T he  Book  ol 
i^omuion  Prayer.) 


436  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.   PRENTISS. 

penetrate.  Jonathan  Edwards'  exquisite  description  of  Sarah  Pierrepont  at 
the  age  of  thirteen,  Mrs.  Edwards'  own  account  of  her  religious  exercises 
after  her  marriage,  and  Goethe's  "Confessions  of  a  Beautiful  Soul,"  alwaj-s 
reminded  me  of  some  of  its  characteristic  features.  If  my  pastoral  minis- 
trations gave  any  aid  and  comfort  to  other  souls,  I  can  truly  say  it.  was  all 
largely  due  to  her.  And  as  for  myself,  my  debt  of  gratitude  to  her  as  a 
spiritual  helper  and  friend  in  Christ  was,  and  is,  and  ever  will  be,  unspeak- 
able. The  instant  I  began  to  know  her,  I  began  to  feel  the  cheering  influ- 
ence and  uplifting  power  of  her  faith.  For  more  than  a  third  of  a  century 
it  was  the  most  constant  and  by  far  the  strongest  human  force  that  wrought 
in  my  religious  life.  Nor  was  it  a  human  force  alone  ;  for  surely  faith  like 
hers  is  in  real  contact  with  Christ  Himself  and  is  an  inspiration  of  His 
Spirit.  She  longed  so  to  live  and  move  and  have  her  being  in  love  to 
Christ,  that  nobody  could  come  near  her  without  being  straightway  re- 
minded of  Him.  She  seemed  to  be  always  saying  to  herself,  in  the  words 
of  an  old  Irish  hymn  : ' 

Christ  with  me,  Christ  before  me,  Christ  behind  me,  Christ  within  me,  Christ  beneath 
me,  Christ  above  me,  Christ  at  my  right,  Christ  at  my  left,  Christ  in  the  heart  of  every 
man  who  thinlcs  of  me,  Christ  in  the  mouth  of  every  man  who  speaks  to  me,  Christ  in 
every  eye  that  sees  me,  Christ  in  ever}^  ear  that  hears  me. 

Such  was  her  constant  prayer ;  and  it  was  answered  in  the  experience 
of  many  souls,  whose  faith  was  kindled  into  a  brighter  flame  by  the  intense 
ardor  of  hers.  So  long  and  so  closely,  in  my  own  mind,  was  she  associated 
with  Christ,  that  the  thought  of  her  still  reminds  me  of  Him  as  naturally 
as  does  reading  about  Him  in  the  New  Testament. 

The  allegory  referred  to  above  is  here  given : 

A  benevolent  man  found  a  half-starved,  homeless,  blind  beggar-boy  in 
the  streets  of  a  great  city.  He  took  him,  just  as  he  was,  to  his  own  house, 
adopted  him  as  his  own  son,  and  began  to  educate  him.  But  the  boy  learned 
very  slowly,  and  his  face  was  often  sad.  His  father  asked  him  why  he  did 
not  fix  his  mind  more  upon  his  lessons,  and  why  he  was  not  cheerful  and 
happy,  like  the  other  children.  The  boy  replied  that  his  mind  was  con- 
stantly occupied  with  the  fear  that  he  had  not  been  really  adopted  as  a  son, 
and  might  at  any  moment  learn  his  mistake. 

Father.  But  can  you  not  believe  me  when  I  assure  you  that  you  are  my 
own  dear  son  ? 

Boy.  I  can  not,  for  I  can  see  no  reason  why  you  should  adopt  mc.  I 
was  a  poor,  bad  boy ;  you  did  not  need  any  more  children,  for  you  had  a 
house  full  of  them,  and  I  never  can  do  anything  for  you. 

Father.  You  can  love  me  and  be  happy,  and  as  you  grow  older  and 
stronger  you  can  work  for  me. 

»  Ascribed  to  St.  Patrick,  on  the  occasion  of  his  appearing  before  King  Laoghaire. 


TEACEABLE    FRUIT.  437 

Boy.  I  am  afraid  I  do  not  love  you  ;  that  is  what  troubles  me. 

Father.  Would  you  not  be  vei7  sorry  to  have  me  deny  that  you  are  m) 
son,  and  turn  you  out  of  the  house  ? 

Boy.  Oh,  yes  !  But  perhaps  that  is  because  you  take  good  care  of  mc, 
not  because  I  love  you. 

Father.  Suppose,  then,  I  should  provide  some  one  else  to  take  care  of 
you,  and  should  then  leave  you. 

Boy.  That  would  be  dreadful. 

Father.  Why.-*  You  would  be  taken  good  care  of,  and  have  every 
want  supplied. 

Boy.  But  I  should  have  no  father.  I  should  lose  the  best  tiling  1  have 
I  should  be  lonely. 

Father.  You  see  you  love  me  a  little,  at  all  events.  Now,  do  you  ihinl' 
I  love  you  } 

Boy,  I  don't  see  how  you  can.  I  am  such  a  bad  boy  and  try  your  pa 
tience  so.  And  I  am  not  half  as  thankful  to  you  for  your  goodness  as  I 
ought  to  be.  Sometimes,  for  a  minute,  I  think  to  myself,  He  is  my  father 
and  he  really  loves  me  ;  then  I  do  something  wrong,  and  I  think  nobody 
would  want  such  a  boy,  nobody  can  love  such  a  boy. 

Father.  My  son,  I  tell  you  that  I  do  love  you,  but  you  can  not  believe  it 
because  you  do  not  know  me.  And  you  do  not  know  me  because  you  have 
not  seen  me,  because  you  are  blind.  I  must  have  you  cured  of  this  blind- 
ness. 

So  the  blind  boy  had  the  scales  removed  from  his  eyes  and  began  to 
see.  He  became  so  interested  in  using  his  eyesight  that,  for  a  time,  he 
partially  lost  his  old  habit  of  despondency.  But  one  day,  when  it  began  to 
creep  back,  he  saw  his  father's  face  light  up  with  love  as  one  after  another 
of  his  children  came  to  him  for  a  blessing,  and  said  to  himself:  Thiy  dixo. 
his  own  children,  and  it  is  not  strange  that  he  loves  them,  and  does  so 
much  to  make  them  happy.  But  I  am  nothing  but  a  beggar-boy  ;  he  can't 
love  me.  I  would  give  anything  if  he  could.  Then  the  father  asked  why 
his  face  was  sad,  and  the  boy  told  him. 

Father.  Come  into  this  picture  gallery  and  tell  me  what  you  see. 

Boy.  I  sie  a  portrait  of  a  poor,  ragged,  dirty  boy.  And  here  is  anoilur 
And  another.     Wliy,  the  gallery  is  full  of  them  ! 

Father.  Do  you  see  anything  amiable  and  iovaljlc  in  any  of  tluin  ? 

Boy.  Oh,  no. 

Father.  Uo  you  think  I  love  your  brothers? 

Boy.  I  know  you  do  ! 

Father,  Well,  here  they  are,  just  as  1  took  the  poor  fellows  out  of  tiic 
streets. 

Boy.  Out  of  the  streets  as  you  did  me.'*  They  are  all  your  adopted 
50  ns  ? 

Father.  Every  one  of  them. 


43^  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

Boy.  I  don't  understand  it.     What  made  you  do  it  ? 

Father.  I  loved  them  so  that  I  could  not  help  it. 

Boy.  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing  !  You  loved  those  miserable  beggar- 
boys  ?     Then  you  must  be  made  of  Love  ! 

Father.  I  am.  And  that  is  the  reason  I  am  so  grieved  when  some 
such  boys  refuse  to  let  me  become  their  father. 

Boy.  Refuse  ?  Oh,  how  can  they  }  Refuse  to  become  your  own  dear 
sons  }     Refuse  to  have  such  a  dear,  kind,  patient  father  1     Refuse  love? 

Father.  My  poor  blind  boy,  don't  you  now  begin  to  see  that  I  do  not 
wait  for  these  adopted  sons  of  mine  to  wash  and  clothe  themselves,  to  be- 
come good,  and  obedient,  and  affectionate,  but  loved  them  because  they 
were  such  destitute,  wicked,  lost  boys  ?  I  did  not  go  out  into  the  streets  to 
look  for  well-dressed,  well-cared-for,  faultless  children,  who  would  adorn 
my  house  and  shine  in  it  like  jewels.  I  sought  for  outcasts  ;  I  loved  them 
as  outcasts  ;  I  knew  they  would  be  ungrateful  and  disobedient,  and  never 
love  me  half  as  much  as  I  did  them  ;  but  that  made  me  all  the  more  sorry 
for  them.  See  what  pains  i  am  taking  with  them,  and  how  beautifully 
some  of  them  are  learning  their  lessons.  And  now  tell  me,  my  son,  in 
seeing  this  picture  gallery,  do  you  not  begin  to  see  me  }  Could  anything 
less  than  love  take  in  such  a  company  of  poor  beggars  } 

Boy.  Yes,  my  father,  I  do  begin  to  see  it.  I  do  believe  that  I  know  you 
better  now  than  I  ever  did  before.  I  believe  you  love  even  me.  And  i.ow 
I  kno^iV  that  I  love  you  ! 

Father.  Now,  then,  my  dear  son,  let  that  vexing  question  drop  forever, 
and  begin  to  act  as  my  son  and  heir  should.  You  have  a  great  deal  to 
learn,  but  I  will  myself  be  your  teacher,  and  your  mind  is  now  free  to  attend 
to  my  mstructions.  Do  you  find  anything  to  love  and  admire  in  your 
brothers  } 

Boy.  Indeed  I  do. 

Father.  You  shall  be  taught  the  lessons  that  have  made  them  what 
they  are.  Meanwhile  I  want  to  see  you  look  cheerful  and  happy,  lemem- 
bering  that  you  are  in  your  father's  heart. 

Boy.  Dear  father,  I  will !     But  oh,  help  me  to  be  a  better  son  I 

Father.  Dear  boy,  I  will. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

WORK      AND      PLAY. 

1875-1877. 

I. 

A  Bible-reading  in  New  York.  Her  Painting.  "  Grace  for  Grace."  Death  of  a  young 
Friend.  The  Summer  at  Dorset.  Bible-readings  there.  Encompassed  with  Kin- 
dred.  Typhoid  Fever  in  the  House.  Watching  and  Waiting.  The  Return  to 
Town.     A  Day  of  Family  Rejoicing.     Life  a  "  Battle-field." 

Her  time  and  thoughts  during  1875  were  mostly  taken  up 
by  her  Bible-readings,  her  painting,  the  society  of  kinsfolk 
from  the  East  and  the  West,  getting  her  eldest  son  ready  kx 
college,  and  by  the  dangerous  illness  of  her  youngest  daugh- 
ter. Some  extracts  from  the  few  letters  belonging  to  this 
year  will  give  the  main  incidents  of  its  history. 

I  have  had  two  Bible-readings,  and  they  bid  fair  to  be  more 

like  those  of  last  winter  than  I   had  dared  to  hope. 

youn--     There  are  earnest,  thoughtful,  praying  souls  present, 

>;?i3,    who   help   me   in   conducting  the    meeting,   and   you 

1S7S.      would  be  astonished  to  see  how  much  better  I  can  do 

when  not  under  the  keen  embarrassment  of  delivering  a  lecture, 

as  at  Dorset I  have  a  young  friend  about  your  age  who 

is  dying  of  consumption,  and  it  is  very  delightful  to  see  how 
happy  she  is.  She  used  to  attend  the  Bible-readings  la>l 
winter. 

About  the  painting?  Well,  I  have  dug  away,  and  Mrs. 
Beers  painted  out  and  painted  in,  till  I  have  got  a  beautiful 
great  picture  almost  entirely  done  by  her.  Then  I  undertook 
the  old  fence  with  the  clematis  on  it  here  at  home,  and  maae  a 
horrid  daub.  She  painted  most  of  that  out,  and  is  having  me 
do  it  at  the  studio.     Meanwhile,  1   have  wuikcd  <m  aiiuUicr  biie 

(439) 


44-0  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

lent  me,  and  finished  it  to-day,  and  they  all  say  that  it  is  a  suc- 
cess. In  my  last  two  lessons  Mrs.  B.  contrived  to  let  some 
light  into  my  bewildered  brain,  and  says  that  if  I  paint  with 
her  this  winter  and  next  summer  I  shall  be  able  to  do  what  I 
please.  ]\Iy  most  discouraging  time,  she  says,  is  over.  Not 
that  I  have  been  discouraged  an  atom  !  I  have  great  faith  in  a 
strong  will  and  a  patient  perseverance,  and  have  had  no  idea 

of  saying  die Some  lady  in  Philadelphia  bought  forty 

copies  of  Urbane.  It  was  very  discriminating  in  you  to  see 
how  comforting  to  me  would  be  that  passage  from  Robertson. 
God  only  fully  knows  how  I  have  got  my  ''  education."  The 
school  has  at  times  been  too  awful  to  talk  about  to  any  being 
save  Him.* 

My  point  about  ''  Grace  for  Grace  " '  is  this  :  I  believe  in 
"growth   in   grace,"  but  I  also  believe  in,  because   I 
Mfs.mnji-h.SiVQ  experienced   it  and  find   my  experience  in  the 
New  York,  Word  of  God,  a  work  of  the  Spirit  subsequent  to  con- 
A/ri/6,    version  (not  necessary  in  all  cases,  perhaps,  but  in  all 
cases    where    Christian    life    begins    and    continues 
feebly),  which  puts  the   soul   into   new  conditions  of  growth. 
If  a  plant  is  sickly  and  drooping,  you  must  change  its  atmos- 
phere before  you  can  cure  it  or  make  it  grow.     A  great  many 
years  ago,  disgusted  with  my  spiritual  life,  I  was  led  into  new 
relations  to  Christ  to  which  I  could  give  no  name,  for  I  nevei 
had  heard  of  such  an  experience.     When  we  moved  into  this 
house,  I  found  a  paper  that  had  long  been  buried  among  rub- 
bish, in  which  I  said,  "I  am  one  great  long  sunbeam  ";  and  I 
don't  know  any  words,  that,  on  the  whole,  could  better  covQr 
most  of  my  life  since  then.     I  have  been  a  great  sufferer,  too  ; 
but  that  has,  in  the  main,  nothing  to  do  v/ith  one's  relation  to 
Christ,   except   that   most   forms   of    pain   bring    Him    nearer. 
Now,  one  can  not  read  "  Grace  for  Grace  "  without  loving  and 
sympathising  with  the  author,  because  of  his  deep-seated  long- 

»  The  followini:^  is  the  passage  referred  to  :  "If  you  aspire  to  be  a  son  of  consolation  ; 
If  jrou  would  partake  of  the  priestly  ^ft  of  sympathy  ;  if  you  would  pour  something  be- 
yond commonplace  consolation  into  a  tempted  heart ;  if  you  would  pass  through  the  in- 
tercourse of  daily  life  with  the  delicate  tact  that  never  inflicts  pain  ;  if  to  that  most  acute 
of  human  ailments — mental  doubt,  you  are  ever  to  give  effectual  succor,  you  must  be  con- 
tent to  pay  the  price  ol  the  costly  education.    Like  Him,  you  must  suffer,  being  tempted. 

^  By  the  late  Rev.  William  James,  D.  D. 


WORK  AND   TLAY.  44 1 

ing  for,  and  final  attainment  of,  holiness  ;  but  it  seemed  to  me 
there  was  a  good  deal  of  needless  groping,  which  more  looking 
to  Christ  might  have  spared  him.  It  is,  as  you  say,  curious  to 
see  how  people  who  agree  in  so  many  points  differ  so  in  oth 
ers.  I  suspect  it  is  because  our  degrees  of  faith  vaiy  ;  the  one 
who  believes  most  gets  most. 

The  subject  of  sin  versus  sinlessness  is  the  vexed  question, 
on  which,  as  fast  as  most  people  get  or  think  they  get  light, 
somebody  comes  along  and  snuffs  out  their  candles  with  un- 
ceremonious finger  and  thumb.  A  dearly-beloved  woman  spent 
a  month  with  me  last  spring.  She  thinks  she  is  "  kept "  from  sin, 
and  certainly  the  change  from  a  most  estimable  but  dogmatic 

character  is  absolutely  wonderful There  was  this  dis 

crepancy  between  her  experience  and  mine,  with,  on  all  othei 
points,  the  most  entire  harmony.  She  had  had  no  special,  joy- 
ful revelations  of  Christ  to  her  soul,  and  I  had  had  them  till  it 
seemed  as  if  body  and  soul  would  fly  apart.  On  the  other 
hand  she  had  a  sweet  sense  of  freedom  from  sin  which  tran- 
scended anything  I  had  ever  had  consciously ;  although  I 
really  think  that  when  one  is  "  looking  unto  Jesus,"  one  is  not 
likely  to  fall  into  much  noticeable  sin.  Talking  with  Miss  S. 
about  the  two  experiences  of  my  dear  friend  and  myself,  she 
said  that  it  could  be  easily  explained  by  the  fact  that  all  the 
gifts  of  the  Spirit  were  rarely,  if  ever,  given  to  one  soul.  ^  She 
is  very  (properly)  reticent  as  to  what  she  has  herself  received, 
but  she  behaved  in  such  a  beautiful.  Christlike  way  on  a  point 
where  we  differed,  a  point  of  practice,  that  I  can  not  doubt 
she  has  been  unusually  blest. 

Early  in  May  of  this  year  she  was  afHicted  by  the  sudden 
death  in  Paris  of  a  very  dear  friend  of  her  eldest  daughter, 
Miss  Virginia  S.  Osborn.'  During  the  previous  sumn^er  Miss 
Osborn  had  passed  several  weeks  at  Dorset  and  endeared  her- 
self,  while  there,  to  all  the  family.  The  following  is  from  a 
letter  of  Mrs.  Prentiss  to  the  bereaved  mother : 

I  feel  much  more  like  sitting  down  and  weeping  with  you 
than  attempting  to  utter  words  of  consolation.     Nowhere  out  of 
her  own  home  was  Virginia  more  beloved  and  admired  than  in 
1  See  appendix  G,  p.  557. 


44^  THE   l.IFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

our  family  ;  we  feel  afflicted  painfully  at  what  to  our  human 
vision  looks  like  an  unmitigated  calamity.  But  if  it  is  so  hard 
for  us  to  bear,  to  whom  in  no  sense  she  belonged,  what  a  heart- 
rending event  this  is  to  you,  her  mother !  What  an  amazement, 
what  a  mystery.  But  it  will  not  do  to  look  upon  it  on  this  side. 
We  must  not  associate  anything  so  unnatural  as  death  with  a  be- 
ing so  eminently  formed  for  life.  We  must  look  beyond,  as  soon 
as  our  tears  will  let  us,  to  the  sphere  on  which  she  has  been  hon- 
ored to  enter  in  her  brilliant  youth  ;  to  the  society  of  the  noblest 
and  the  best  human  beings  earth  has  ever  known  ;  to  the  fulness 
of  life,  the  perfection  of  every  gift  and  grace,  to  congenial  em- 
ployment, to  the  welcome  of  Him  who  has  conquered  deatli 
and  brought  life  and  immortality  to  light.  If  we  think  of  her 
as  in  the  grave,  we  must  own  that  hers  was  a  hard  lot  ;  but  she 
is  not  in  a  grave  ;  she  is  at  home  ;  she  is  well,  she  is  happy,  she 
will  never  know  a  bereavement,  or  a  day's  illness,  or  the  infirm- 
ities and  trials  of  old  age  ;  she  has  got  the  secret  of  perpetual 
3^outh. 

But  while  these  thoughts  assuage  our  grief,  they  can  not 
wholly  allay  it.  We  have  no  reason  to  doubt  that  she  would 
have  given  and  received  happiness  here  upon  earth,  had  she  been 
spared  ;  and  we  can  not  help  missing  her,  mourning  for  her, 
onging  for  her,  out  of  the  very  depths  of  our  hearts.  The  only 
real  comfort  is  that  God  never  makes  mistakes  ;  that  He  would 
not  have  snatched  her  from  us,  if  He  had  not  had  a  reason  that 
would  satisfy  us  if  we  knew  it.  I  can  not  tell  you  with  what 
tender  sympathy  I  think  of  your  return  to  your  desolate  home  ; 
the  agonizing  meeting  Avith  your  bereaved  boys  ;  the  days  and 
nights  that  have  to  be  lived  through,  face  to  face  with  a  great 
sorrow.     May  God  bless  and  keep  you  all. 

I  have  been  sitting  at  my  window,  enjoying  the  clear  blue 

sky,  and  the  "  living  green  "  of  the  fields  and  woods, 

ifrs.  Con-  and  wishing  you  were  here  to  share  it  all  with  me. 

Dorset,      ^^^  ^s  you  are  not,  the  next  best  thing  is  to  write 

yufy  II,     yQ^_      You    seem    to   have    been   wafted    into    that 

strange  sea-side  spot,  to  do  work  there,  and  I  hope 

you  will  have  health  and  strength  for  it.     One  of  the  signs  of 

the  times  is  the  way  in  which  the  hand  of  Providence  scatters 

"  city  folks  "  all  about  in  waste  places,  there  to  sow  seed  thai 


WORK  AND   PLAY.  443 

in  His  own  time  sliall  spring  up  and  bear  fruit  for  Him.     I  was 

shocked  at  wliat  you  said  about  Miss not  recognising  you. 

It  seemed  almost  incredible.  Mr,  Prentiss  has  persuaded  ma 
to  have  a  family  Bible-reading  on  Sunday  afternoon,  as  we 
have  no  service,  and  studying  up  for  it  this  morning  I  came  to 
this  proverb  which  originated  with  IIuss,  whose  name  in  Bo- 
hemian signifies  goose.  He  said  at  the  stake  :  "  If  you  burn  a 
goose  a  swan  will  rise  from  its  ashes  ";  and  I  thought — Well, 

Miss 's  usefulness  is  at  an  end,  but  God  can,  and  no  doubt 

will,  raise  up  a  swan  in  her  place.  About  forty  now  attend  my 
Bible-reading. 

We  have  my  eldest  brother  here  and  he  is  a  perfect  enthu- 
siast about  Dorset,  and  has  enjoyed  his  visit  immensely.  He 
said  yesterday  that  he  had  laughed  more  that  afternoon  than  in 
the  previous  ten  years.  We  expect  Dr.  Stearns  and  his  daughter 
on  the  20th,  and  when  thev  leave  Mr.  P.  intends  to  go  to  Maine 
and  try  a  change  of  air  and  scene.  I  hate  to  have  him  go  ;  his 
trouble  of  last  year  keeps  me  uneasy,  if  he  is  long  out  of  my 
sight. 

I  have  just  written  a  letter  to  my  husband,  from   whom   I 

have  been  separated  a  whole  day.     He  has  gone  to 

the  Same,    Elaine,  partly  to  see  friends,  partly  to  get  a  little   sea 

J^orset,      g^jj.      Yio:  wanted   me  to  0:0  with   him,  but   it  would 

Aug.,  1875.  ^  ' 

have  ended  in  my  getting  down  sick.  This  summer 
I  am  encompassed  with  relatives  ;  two  of  my  brothers,  a 
nephew,  a  cousin,  a  second  cousin,  and  in  a  day  or  two  one 
brother's  wife  and  child,  and  two  more  second  cousins  are  to 
come  ;  not  to  our  house,  but  to  board  next  door.  There  is  a 
troop  of  artists  swarming  the  tavern  ;  all  ladies,  some  of  them 
very  congenial,  cultivated,  excellent  persons.  They  are  all  de- 
lighted with  Dorset,  and  it  is  pleasant  to  stumble  on  little 
groups  of  them  at  their  work.  A.  has  been  out  sketching  with 
them  and  succeeds  very  well.  I  have  given  up  painting  land- 
scapes and  taken  to  flowers.  I  have  just  had  a  visit  here  in  my 
room  from  three  humming-birds.     They  are  attracted  by  the 

flowers One   of  the  cousins   is  just  now  riding  on   the 

lawm.  Her  splendid  hair  has  come  down  and  covers  her  shoul- 
ders ;  and  with  her  color,  always  lovely,  heightened  by  exercise 
and  pleasure,  she  makes  a  beautiful  picture.    What  is  nicer  than 


444  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.   TREXTISS. 

an  unsophisticated  young  girl?  I  have  no  time  for  reading 
this  summer  among  the  crowd  ;  but  one  can  not  help  thinking 
wherever  one  is,  and  I  have  come  to  this  conclusion  :  happiness 
in  its  strictest  sense  is  found  only  in  Christ ;  at  the  same  time 
there  are  many  sources  of  enjoyment  independently  of  Him.  It 
is  getting  dark  and  I  can  not  see  my  lines.  I  am  more  and 
more  puzzled  about  good  people  making  such  mistakes.     Dr. 

Stearns  says  that  the  Rev.  Mr. has  been  laying  his  hands 

on  people  and  saying,  "  Receive  the  Holy  Ghost."  Such  ex- 
cesses give  me  great  doubt  and  pain. 

Your  letter  came  to  find  me  in  a  sorrowful  and  weary  spot. 
To  the  My  dear  M.  lies  here  with  typhoid  fever,  and  my  heart 
^epf^l  and  soul  and  body  are  in  less  than  a  fortnight  of  it 
iS75-  pretty  well  used  up,  and  my  husband  is  in  almost  as 
bad  a  case  with  double  anxiety,  he  and  A.  expecting  every  hour 
to  see  me  break  down.  It  has  been  an  awful  pull  for  us  all,  for 
not  one  of  us  has  an  atom  of  health  to  spare,  and  only  keep  about 
by  avoiding  all  the  wear  and  tear  we  can.  Dr.  Buck  has  sent  us 
an  excellent  English  nurse  ;  she  came  yesterday  and  insisted 
on  sitting  up  with  M.  all  night  and  we  all  dropped  into  our  beds 
like  so  many  shot  birds.  I  heard  her  go  down  for  ice  three 
times,  so  I  knew  my  precious  lamb  was  not  neglected,  and 
slept  in  peace.  We  are  encompassed  with  mercies  ;  the  phy- 
sician who  drives  over  from  Manchester  is  as  skilful  as  he  is 
conscientious  ;  this  house  is  admirably  adapted  to  sickness, 
the  stairway  only  nine  feet  high,  plenty  of  water,  and  my  room, 
which  I  have  given  her,  admits  of  her  lying  in  a  draught  as  the 
doctor  wishes  her  to  do.  While  the  nurse  is  sleeping,  as  she 
is  now,  A.  and  I  take  turns  sitting  out  on  the  piazza,  where 
there  is  a  delicious  breeze  almost  always  blowing. 

The  ladies  here  are  disappointed  that  I  can  no  longer  hold 
the  Bible-readings,  but  it  is  not  so  much  matter  that  I  am  put 
off  work  if  you  are  put  on  it  ;  the  field  is  one,  and  the  Master 
knows  whom  to  use  and  when  and  where.  We  have  been  read- 
ing with  great  delight  a  little  book  called  "Miracles  of  Faith." 
I  am  called  to  M.,  who  has  had  a  slight  chill,  and  of  course 
high  fever  after  it.  It  seems  painfully  unnatural  to  see  my 
sunbeam  turned  into  a  dark  cloud,  and  it  distresses  me  so  to 
see  her  suffer  that  I  don't  know  how  I  am  going  to  stand  it. 


WORK   AND    PLAY.  445 

But  I  won't  plao^iic  3^011  with  any  more  of  this,  nor  must  I  for 
get  how  often  I  have  said,  "  Thy  will  be  done."  You  need  not 
doubt  that  God's  will  looks  so  mucli  better  to  us  than  our  own^ 
that  nothing  would  tempt  us  to  decide  our  child's  future. 

Your  letters  are  a  great  comfort  to  us,  and  the  way  to  get 
To  her  "^^"Y  is  to  write  many.  jNI.'s  fever  ran  twenty-one 
eldest  Son,  days,  as  the  doctor  said  it  would,  and  began  to  break 
Sept.  19,  yesterday.  On  Friday  it  ran  very  high  ;  her  pulse 
^^^^"  was  120  and  her  temperature  105 — bad,  bad,  bad.  She 
is  very,  very  weak.  We  have  sent  away  Pharaoh  and  the  kit- 
ten ;  Pha  would  bark,  and  Kit  would  come  in  and  stare  at  her, 
and  both  made  her  cry.  The  doctor  has  the  house  kept  still  as 
the  grave  ;  he  even  brought  over  his  slippers  lest  his  step  should 
disturb  her.  She  is  not  yet  out  of  danger  ;  so  you  must  not  be 
too  elated.  We  four  are  sitting  in  the  dining-room  with  a  hot 
fire  ;  papa  is  reading  aloud  to  A.  and  H.  ;  it  is  evening,  and  M. 
has  had  her  opiate,  and  is  getting  to  sleep.  I  have  not  much 
material  of  which  to  make  letters,  sitting  all  day  in  a  dark 
room  in  almost  total  silence.  The  artists  are  rigging  up  the 
church  beautifully  with  my  flowers,  etc.,  Mr.  Palmer  and  Mr. 
Lawrence  lending  their  aid.  Your  father  is  reading  about  Hans 
Andersen  ;  you  must  read  the  article  in  the  Living  Age,  No 
1,631  ;  it  is  ever  so  funny. 

I  had  such  a  queer  dream  last  night.  I  dreamed  that  >Laggic 
plagued  us  so  that  your  father  went  to  New  York  and  brought 
back  t7iio  cooks.  I  said  I  only  wanted  one.  "Oh,  but  these  are 
so  rare,"  he  said;  "come  out  and  see  them."  So  he  led  mc 
into  the  kitchen,  and  there  sat  at  the  table,  eating  dinner  very 
solemnly,  two  cstriches !  Now  what  that  dream  was  made  of 
1  can  not  imagine.  Now  I  must  go  to  bed,  pretty  tired.  When 
yon  are  .onely  and  blue,  think  how  we  all  love  you.  Good- 
night, dear  old  fellow. 

Sept.  2\st. — It  cuts  me  to  the  heart,  my  precious  boy,  ihal 
your  college  life  begins  under  such  a  shadow.  Hut  I  hope  you 
know  where  to  go  in  both  loneliness  and  trouble.  You  may 
i^ct  a  telegram  l:)t'fore  this  reach(^s  you  ;  if  you  do  not  you  had 
belter  pack  your  valise  and  have  it  ready  ior  you  to  come  at  a 
minute's  warning.  The  doctor  gives  us  hardly  a  \\o\)(i  ilint  M. 
A'ill  live  ;  she  may  drop  away  at  any  moment.     Wliile  she  dues 


446  THE  LIFE   OF   MRS.   PRENTISS. 

live  you  are  better  off  at  Princeton  ;  but  when  she  is  gone  we 
shall  all  want  to  be  together.  We  shall  have  her  buried  here 
in  Dorset ;  otherwise  I  never  should  want  to  come  here  again. 
A.  said  this  was  her  day  to  write  you,  but  she  had  no  heart 
to  do  it.  The  only  thing  I  can  do  while  M.  is  asleep,  is  to  write 
letters  about  her.     Good-night,  dear  boy. 

22d, — The  doctor  was  here  from  eight  to  nine  last  night  and 
said  she  would  suffer  little  more  and  sleep  her  life  away.  She 
says  she  is  nicely  and  the  nurse  says  so.  Your  fathei  and  I 
have  had  a  good  cry  this  morning,  which  has  done  us  no  little 
service.  Dear  boy,  this  is  a  bad  letter  for  you,  but  I  have  done 
the  best  I  can. 

I  hope  you  received  the  postal  announcing  our  safe  arrival 

home.     I  have  been  wanting:  to  answer  your  last  let- 
To  Mrs.  ,  ,  ,  ^   f  .      .  T  ,       . 

George     tcr,  but  now  that  the  awful  strain  is  over  I  begin  to 

New^York  ^^^i  ^"^  tired  and  lame  and  sore,  and  any  exertion  is 

Oct.  31,    an  effort.     But  after  all  the  dismal  letters  I  have  had 
1875. 

to   write,   I  want  to  tell  you  what  a  delightful   day 

yesterday  was  to  us  all  ;  G.  home  from  Princeton,  all  six  of  us 
at  the  table  at  once,  "eating  our  meat  with  gladness";  the 
pleasantest  family  day  of  our  lives.  M.'s  recovery  during  the 
last  week  has  been  little  short  of  miraculous.  We  got  her 
home,  after  making  such  a  bugbear  of  it,  in  perfect  comfort. 
We  left  Dorset  about  noon  in  a  close  carriage  ;  the  doctor  and 
his  wife  were  at  the  station  and  weighed  M.,  when  we  found 
she  had  lost  thirty-six  pounds.  The  coachman  took  her  in  his 
arms  and  carried  her  into  the  car,  when  who  should  meet  us 
but  the  Warners.  On  reaching  the  New  York  depot,  George 
rushed  into  the  car  in  such  a  state  of  wild  excitement  that  he 
took  no  notice  of  any  one  but  M.  ;  he  then  flew  out  and  a  man 
flew  in,  and  without  saying  a  word  snatched  her  up  in  his  arms, 
whipped  her  into  a  reclining-chair,  and  he  and  another  man 
scampered  with  her  to  the  carriage  and  seated  her  in  it ;  I  had 
t(.  run  to  keep  up  with  them,  and  nearly  knocked  down  a  gigan 
tic  policeman  who  was  guarding  it.  The  Warners  spent  the 
night  here  and  left  next  morning  before  I  was  up,  so  afraid  of 
making  trouble A  friend  has  put  a  carriage  at  our  dis- 
posal, and  M.  is  to  drive  every  day  when  and  where  and  as 
k  ng  as  she  pleases.     And  now  I  hope  I  shall  have  something 


WORK   AND   PLAY.  447 

else  to  write  about As  to  the  Bible-readings,  I  do  not 

find  commentaries  of  much  use.  Experience  of  life  has  beer 
my  chief  earthly  teacher,  and  one  gains  tliat  every  day,  Ycu 
must  not  write  me  such  long  letters  ;  it  is  too  much  for  you. 
How  I  do  wish  you  would  do  something  desperate  about  get- 
ting well  !  At  any  rate,  do}it^  any  of  you,  have  typhoid  fever 
It  is  the  very  meanest  old  snake  of  a  fox  I  ever  heard  of,  mak- 
ing its  way  like  a  masked  burglar. 

We  came  home  on  the  27th  of  October  ;  M.  bore  the  journey 
wonderfully  well,  and  has  improved  so  fast  that  she 
cofidi^i'  drives  all  round  the  Park  every  day.  Miss  W.  having 
New  York,  put  a  carriage  at  our  disposal.  How  delightful  it  is 
1875.  to  get  my  family  together  once  more  no  tongue  can 
tell,  nor  did  I  realise  all  I  was  suffering  till  the  strain 
was  over.  I  am  longing  to  get  physical  strength  for  work,  but 
my  husband  is  very  timid  about  my  undertaking  anything. 
....  Dr.  Ludlow'  was  here  one  day  last  we6k  to  ask  me  to 
give  a  talk,  in  his  study,  to  some  of  his  young  Christians  ;  but 
my  husband  told  him  it  was  out  of  the  question  at  present, 
shall  be  delighted  to  do  it ;  much  of  my  experience  of  life  has 
cost  me  a  great  price,  and  I  want  to  use  it  for  the  strengthening 
and  comforting  of  other  souls.  No  doubt  you  feel  so  too. 
Whatever  may  be  said  to  the  contrary  by  others,  to  me  life  has 
been  a  battle-field,  and  I  believe  always  will  be  ;  but  is  the 
soldier  necessarily  unhappy  and  disgusted  because  he  is  fight- 
ing? I  trow  not.  I  am  reading  the  history  of  the  Oxford  Con- 
ference ; '  there  is  a  great  deal  in  it  to  like,  but  what  do  you 
think  of  this  saying  of  its  leader?  "  Did  it  ever  strike  you,  dear 
Christian,  that  if  the  poor  world  could  know  what  we  are  in 
Christ,  it  would  worship  us  ?"  '  /say  Pshaw  !  What  a  fallacy  ! 
Why  should  it  worship  us  when  it  rejects  Christ?  Well,  we 
havv'j  to  take  even  the  best  people  as  they  are. 

A  few  weeks  later  she  met  a  company  of  tiic  youn<;  ladies 
of  Dr.  Ludlow's  church  and   gave  them  a  familiar  talk  on  the 

'  Then  pastor  of  the  Collej;iate  Reformed  Church,   ImTUi  avenue  and   I'orty-eighlh 
street,  now  of  I^roohlyn. 

■■'  "Account  of  the  Union  Meetinf::  for  the  rroniotion  of  Scriptural  Holiness,  held  a< 
'Jxford,  August  29  to  September  7,  1S74." 

'  P.  59. 


443  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

Christian  life.     The  following  letter  from  Dr.  L.  will  shov/ 
how  much  they  were  interested  : 

Dear  Mrs.  Prentiss  : — I  find  that  you  have  so  taken  hold  of  the 
young  ladies  of  my  church  that  it  will  be  hard  for  you  to  relieve  yourself 
of  them.  They  insist  on  meeting  you  again.  The  hesitancy  to  ask  you 
questions  last  Thursday  was  due  to  the  large  number  present.  I  have 
asl:ed  07ily  the  yoimger  ones  to  come  this  week — those  who  are  either 
"  seeking  the  way,"  or  are  just  at  its  beginning.  Five  of  those  you  ad- 
dressed last  week  have  announced  their  purpose  of  confessing  Christ  at  the 
coming  Communion. 

Several  questions  have  come  from  those  silent  lips  which  I  am  requested 
to  submit  to  you  : 

"  \Vlmt  is  it  to  believe  ? " 

"  How  much  feeling  of  love  must  I  have  before  I  can  count  myself  Jesus'  disciple  ?  " 

"  I  am  troubled  with  my  lack  of  feeling.  I  know  that  sin  is  heinous,  but  do  not  feel 
deep  abhorrence  of  it.  I  know  that  Jesus  will  save  me,  but  I  have  no  enthusiasm  ol 
gratitude.     Am  I  a  Christian  ? " 

*'  I  am  afraid  to  confess  Christ  lest  I  should  not  honor  Him  in  my  life,  for  I  am  natu- 
rally impulsive  and  easily  fall  into  religious  thoughtlessness.  Should  I  wait  for  an  inward 
assurance  uf  strength,  or  begin  a  Christian  life  tmsting  Him  to  help  me  ? " 

Any  of  these  topics  will  be  very  pertinent.  I  trust  that  nothing  will 
prevent  you  from  being  present  on  Thursday  afternoon.  I  will  call  for  you. 
The  limited  number  who  will  be  present  will  give  you  a  better  working 
basis  than  you  had  last  week.  The  older  young  ladies  have  assented  to 
their  exclusion  this  week  on  the  condition  that  at  some  time  they  too  can 

come. 

Very  gratefully  yours,  James  M.  Ludlow. 

In  a  letter  dated  May  3,  1880,  Dr.  Ludlow  thus  refers  to 
these  meetings  : 

I  regret  that  I  can  not  speak  more  definitely  of  Mrs.  Prentiss'  conversa- 
tions with  the  young  ladies  of  my  charge,  as  it  was  my  custom  to  withdraw 
from  the  room  after  a  few  introductory  words,  so  that  she  could  speak  to 
them  with  the  familiarity  of  a  mother.  I  know  that  all  that  group  felt  the 
warmth  of  her  interest  in  them,  the  charm  of  her  character  which  was  so 
refined  by  her  love  of  Christ  and  strengthened  by  her  experience  of  needed 
grace,  as  well  as  the  wisdom  of  her  words.  I  was  impressed,  from  so  much 
as  I  did  hear  of  her  remarks,  with  her  ability  to  combine  rarest  beauty 
and  highest  spirituality  of  thought  with  the  utmost  simplicity  of  language 
and  the  plainest  illustrations.  Her  conversation  was  like  the  mystic  laddei 
which  was  "  set  up  oji  the  earth,  and  the  top  of  it  reached  to  heave7i'* 
Her  most  solemn  counsel  was  given  in  such  a  way  as  never  to  repress  the 
buoyant  feeling  of  the  young,  but  rather  to  direct  it  toward  the  true  "jo> 


\V()l;Iv    AM)    I'LAV.  449 

of  the  Lord.  '  She  seemed  to  regard  the  cheer  of  to-day  as  much  of  a 
religious  duty  as  the  hope  for  to-niorrow,  and  those  with  whom  she  con- 
versed partook  of  her  own  peace.  I  shall  always  remember  these  meetings 
as  among  the  happiest  and  most  useful  associations  of  my  ministry  in  Nevft* 
York. 


II. 

The  Moody  and  Sankey  Meetings.  Her  Interest  in  them,  Mr.  Moody.  Publication  of 
Griselda.  Goes  to  the  Centennial.  At  Dorset  ag^ain.  Her  Bible- read  in  j:;^.  A 
Moody-Meeting  Convert.  Visit  to  Montreal.  Publication  of  The  Home  at  Grey- 
lock.  Her  Theory  of  a  happy  Home.  Marrying  for  Love.  Her  Sympathy  with 
young  Mothers.     Letters. 

The  early  months  of  1876  were  very  busily  spent  in  paint- 
ing pictures  for  friends,  in  attendance  upon  I\Ir.  Moody's 
memorable  services  at  the  Hippodrome,  and  in  writing  a  book 
for  young  mothers.  Before  going  to  Dorset  for  the  summer 
she  passed  a  week  at  Philadelphia,  visiting  the  Centennial  Ex- 
hibition. Her  letters  during  the  winter  and  spring  of  this 
year  relate  chiefly  to  these  topics. 

You  gave  me  a  good  deal  of  a  chill  by  your  long  silence, 
j^  ^      and  I  lind  it  a  little  hard  to  be  taken  up  and  dropped 
Christian  and  then  taken  up  ;  still,  almost  everybody  has  these 
Feb.  22I     fitful  ways,  and  very  likely  I  myself  among  that  nunv 
^^^^'       ber.     Your  little  boy  must  take  a  world  of  time,  and 
open  a  new  world  of  thought  and   feeling.     But   don't   spoil 
him  ;  the  best  child  can  be  made  hateful  by  mismanagement, 
I  am  trying  to  write  a  book  for  mothers  and  find  it  a  discour- 
aging work,  because  I  find,  on  scrutiny,  such  awfully  radical 
defects  among  them.     And  yet  such  a  book  would  have  helped 
me  in  my  youthful  days. 

You  ask  if  I  have  been  to  hear  Moody  ;  yes,  I  have  and  am 
deeply  interested  in  him  and  his  work.  Yesterday  afternoon 
he  had  a  meeting  for  Christian  workers,  in  which  his  sound 
common-sense  created  great  n:errimcnt.  Some  objected  tc 
this,  but  I  liked  it  because  it  was  so  genuine,  and,  to  my  mind, 
not  un-Christlike.  So  many  fancy  religion  and  a  long  face 
synonymous.  How  stuj^id  it  is  '  I  wonder  they  don't  object 
29 


450  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    TRENTISS. 

to  the  sun  for  shining.  I  am  glad  you  think  Uibane  may  be 
useful,  for  I  hear  little  from  it.  Junia's  story  is  true  as  far  as 
the  laudanum  and  the  blindness  go  ;  it  happened  years  ago.  I 
do  not  know  what  religious  effect  it  had.  As  to  the  friend  of 
whom  you  speak,  she  would  not  love  you  as  you  say  she  does 
if  her  case  was  hopeless  ;  at  least  I  don't  think  so.  I  am  op- 
pressed with  the  case  of  one  who  wants  me  to  help  him.  to 
Christ,  while  unwilling  to  confide  to  me  his  difficulties.  How 
little  they  know  how  we  care 'for  their  souls  ! 

I  have  been  trying  to  do  more  than  any  mortal  can,  and 
now  must  stop  to  take  breath  and  write  to  you.     In 

To  Mrs, 

George  the  first  place,  M.'s  illness  cut  out  three  months  ; 
'^iz'ik-b.  then  fitting  up  G.'s  room  at  Princeton  took  a  large 
part  of  the  next  three  ;  then  ever  so  many  people 
wanted  me  to  paint  them  pictures  ;  then  I  began  a  book  ;  then 
Moody  and  Sankey  appeared,  and  I  wanted  to  hear  them,  ana 
was  needed  to  work  in  co-operation  with  them.  I  don't  know 
how  you  feel  about  Moody,  but  I  am  in  full  sympathy  with 
him,  and  last  Friday  the  testimon}^  of  four  of  the  cured  "gin- 
pigs  "  (their  own  language)  was  the  most  instructive,  interest- 
ing language  I  ever  heard  from  human  lips.  In  talking  to 
those  he  has  drawn  into  the  inquiry  rooms,  I  find  the  most  bit- 
terly wretched  ones  are  back-sliders  ;  they  are  not  without 
hope,  and  expect  to  be  saved  at  last ;  but  they  have  been  tr}^- 
ing  what  the  world  could  do  for  them  and  found  it  a  failure. 
Their  anguish  was  harrowing  ;  one  after  another  tried  to  help 
them,  and  gave  up  in  despair. 

I  had  a  vase  given  me  at  Christmas  somewhat  like  3^ours, 
but  a  trifle  larger,  and  shaped  like  a  fish.  The  flowers  never 
fell  out  but  once.  I  had  two  little  tables  given  me  on  which 
to  set  my  majolica  vases,  with  India-rubber  plants,  which  will 
grow  where  nothing  else  will  ;  also  a  desk  and  bookcase,  and 
two  splendid  specimens  of  grass  which  grew  in  California,  and 
had  been  bleached  to  a  cream)'  white.  They  are  more  beau- 
tiful than  Pampa,  or  even  feather-grass. 

A.  is  driven  to  death  about  a  fair  for  the  Young  Women's 

Christian  Association.    I  have  given  it  a  German  tragedy  which 

I  translated  a  few  years  ago.'     They  expect  to  make  $i,6oo  on 

*  Griselda  ;  A  Dramatic  Poem  in   I'ive  Acts.      Translated  /ro7n   the    German  oj 

Friederich  Halm  [Baron  Miinch-Bellinghausen],  by  Mrs.  E.  Prentiss. 


WORK   AND    PLAY.  45^ 

.t,  but  Randolph  says  if  they  make  half  that  they  may  thank 
their  stars.  I  have  spent  all  my  evenings  of  late  in  revising  it, 
and  it  goes  to  the  printers  to-day.  George  is  going  to  deliver 
a  literary  lecture  for  the  same  object  this  evening,  this  being 
the  age  of  obedient  parents.  No,  I  never  saw  and  never 
painted  any  window-screens.  The  best  things  I  have  done  are 
trailing  arbutus  and  apple-blossoms.  A.  invited  me  to  do  apple- 
blossoms  for  her,  and  said  she  should  have  to  own  that  I  had 
more  artistic  power  than  herself.  I  don't  agree  with  her,  but 
it  is  a  matter  of  no  consequence,  anyhow.  It  is  a  shame  for 
you  to  buy  Little  Lou  ;  I  meant  to  send  you  one  and  thought 
I  had  done  so.  The  bright  speeches  are  mostly  genuine,  made 
by  Eddy  Hopkins  and  Ned  and  Charley  P. 

How  came  you  to  have  blooming  hepaticas  ?  It  is  outrage- 
ous. My  plants  do  better  this  winter  than  ever  before.  I  have 
had  hyacinths  in  bloom,  and  a  plant  given  me,  covered  with 
red  berries,  has  held  its  own.  It  hangs  in  a  glass  basket  the 
boys  gave  me  and  has  a  white  dove  brooding  over  it.  Let  me 
inform  you  that  I  have  lost  my  mind.  A  friend  dined  with  us 
on  Sunday,  and  I  asked  him  when  I  saw  him  last.  "Why, 
yesterday,"  he  said,  "when  I  met  you  at  Randolph's  by  ap- 
pointment." 

There,  I  must  stop  and  go  to  work  on  one  uf  my  numerous 

irons. 

The  "  German  tragedy"  referred  to  fell  into  her  hands  in 
the  spring  of  1869,  and  her  letters,  written  at  the  time,  show 
how  it  delighted  her.  It  is,  indeed,  a  literary  gem.  ^  The 
works  of  its  author.  Baron  Miinch-Bellinghausen— for  Fried- 
erich  Halm  is  a  pseudonym— arc  much  less  known  in  this 
countr>'  than  they  deserve  to  be.  He  is  one  of  the  most 
gifted  of  the  minor  poets  of  Germany,  a  master  of  vivid  style 
and  of  impressive,  varied,  and  beautiful  thought.  Gri^cUa 
first  appeared  at  Vienna  in  1835.  It  was  enthusiastically  re 
ccived  and  soon  passed  through  several  editions. 

The  scene  of  the  poem  is  laid  in  Wales,  in  the  days  of  King 
Arthur.  The  plot  is  very  simple.  Pcrcival,  count  of  Wales, 
who  had  married  Griselda,  the  daughter  of  a  charcoal  burner, 
appears  at  court  on  occasion  of  a  great  festival,  in  the  course 
of  which  ho  is  challenged  by  Gincvra,  the  Queen,  to  give  an 


4-52  THE   LIFE  OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

account  of  Griselda,  and  to  tell  how  he  came  to  wed  her.  He 
readily  consents  to  do  so,  but  has  hardly  begun  when  the 
Queen  and  ladies  of  the  court,  by  their  mocking  air  and  ques- 
tions, provoke  him  to  such  anger  that  swords  are  at  length 
drawn  between  him  and  Sir  Lancelot,  a  friend  of  the  Queen, 
and  only  the  sudden  interposition  of  the  King  prevents  a 
bloody  conflict.  The  feud  ends  in  a  wager,  by  which  it  is 
agreed  that  if  Griselda's  love  to  Percival  endure  certain  tests, 
the  Queen  shall  kneel  to  her ;  otherwise,  Percival  shall  kneel 
to  the  Queen.  The  tests  are  applied,  and  the  young  wife's 
love,  although  perplexed  and  tortured  in  the  extreme,  tri- 
umphantly endures  them  all.  The  character  of  Griselda,  as 
maiden,  daughter,  wife,  mother,  and  woman,  is  wrought  with 
exquisite  skill,  and  betokens  in  the  author  rare  delicacy  and 
nobility  of  sentiment,  as  well  as  deep  knowledge  of  the  human 
heart. 

The  following  extract  gives  a  part  of  Percival's  description 

of  Griselda : 

Percival. 

Plague  take  these  women's  tongues  ! 

GiNEVRA  {to  her  part)^. 
Control  your  wit  and  mirth,  compose  your  faces. 
That  longer  yet  this  pastime  may  amuse  us  ! 
Now,  Percival,  proceed  ! 

Percival. 

What  was  I  saying  ? 
I  have  it  now  !     Beside  the  brook  she  stood  ; 
Her  dusky  hair  hung  rippUng  round  her  face. 
And  perched  upon  her  shoulders  sat  a  dove  ; 
Right  home-like  sat  she  there,  her  wings  scarce  moving. 
Now  suddenly  she  stoops — I  mean  the  maiden — 
Down  to  the  spring,  and  lets  her  little  feet 
Sink  in  its  waters,  while  her  colored  skirt 
Covered  with  care  what  they  did  not  conceal ; 
And  I  within  the  shadow  of  the  trees, 
Inly  admired  her  graceful  modesty. 
And  as  she  sat  and  gazed  into  the  brook, 
Plashing  and  sporting  with  her  snow-white  feet, 
She  thought  not  of  the  olden  times,  when  girls 
Pleased  to  behold  their  faces  smiling  back 


WORK    A\D    ri.AV.  453 

From  the  smooth  water,  used  it  as  their  mirror 
By  which  to  deck  themselves  and  plait  their  hair ; 
But  like  a  child  she  sat  with  droll  grimaces. 
Delighted  when  the  brook  gave  back  to  her 
Her  own  distorted  charms  ;  so  then  I  said  : 
Conceited  is  she  not. 

Kenneth. 

The  charming  child  ! 

Ellinor. 

What  is  a  collier's  child  to  you  !     By  heaven  ! 
Don't  make  me  fancy  that  you  know  her,  Sir  ! 

Percival. 

And  now  resounding  thiiough  the  mountain  far, 

From  the  church-tower  rang  forth  the  vesper-bell, 

And  she  grew  grave  and  still,  and  shaking  quickly 

From  off  her  face  the  hair  that  fell  around  it, 

She  cast  a  thoughtful  and  angelic  glance 

Upward,  where  clouds  had  cauglit  the  evening  red, 

And  her  lips  gently  moved  with  whispered  words. 

As  rose-leaves  tremble  when  the  soft  winds  breathe. 

O  she  is  saintly,  flashed  it  through  my  soul  ; 

She  marking  on  her  brow  the  holy  cross, 

Lifted  her  face,  bright  with  the  sunset's  flush. 

While  holy  longing  and  devotion's  glow. 

Moistened  her  eye  and  hung  like  glory  round  her. 

Then  to  her  breast  the  little  dove  she  clasped. 

Embraced,  caressed  it,  kissed  its  snow-white  wings. 

And  laughed  ;  when,  with  its  rose-red  bill,  it  pecked. 

As  if  with  longing  for  her  fresh  young  lips. 

How  she'd  caress  it,  said  I  to  myself. 

Were  this  her  child,  the  offspring  of  her  love  ! 

And  now  a  voice  resounded  through  the  woods, 

And  cried,  "  Griselda,"  cried  it,  "  Come,  Griselda  !" 

While  she,  the  distant  voice's  sound  distinguished, 

Sprang  quickly  up,  and  scarcely  lingering 

Her  feet  to  dry,  ran  up  the  dewy  bank 

With  lightning  speed,  her  dove  in  circles  o'er  her. 

Till  in  the  dusky  thicket  disappeared 

P'or  me  the  last  edge  of  her  flutt'ring  robe. 

"  Obedient  is  she,"  said  I  to  myself; 

And  many  things  revolvirg,  turned  I  home. 


454  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

GiNEVRA. 
By  heaven  !     You  tell  your  tale  so  charmingly, 
And  with  such  warmth  and  truth  to  life,  the  hearer 
Out  of  your  words  can  shape  a  human  form. 
Why,  I  can  see  this  loveliest  of  maidens 
Sit  by  the  brook-side  making  her  grimaces  ; 
They  are  right  pretty  faces  spite  of  coal-smut. 
Is  it  not  so,  Sir  Percival  ? 

Mrs.  Prentiss'  translation  is  both  spirited  and  faithful- 
faithful  in  following  even  the  irregularities  of  metre  which 
mark  the  original.  It  won  the  praise  and  admiration  of 
some  of  the  most  accomplished  judges  in  the  country.  The 
following  extract  from  a  letter  of  the  late  Rev.  Henry  W. 
Bellows,  D.D.,  may  serve  as  an  instance : 

I  read  it  through  at  one  sitting  and  enjoyed  it  exceedingly.  What  a 
lovely,  pure,  and  exalting  story  it  is  !  I  confess  that  I  prefer  it  to  Tenny- 
son's recent  dramas  or  to  any  of  the  plays  upon  the  same  or  kindred  themes 
that  have  lately  appeared  from  Leighton  and  others.  The  translation  is 
melodious,  easy,  natural,  and  hardly  bears  any  marks  of  the  fetters  of  a 
tongue  foreign  to  its  author.  How  admirable  must  have  been  the  knowl- 
edge of  German  and  the  skill  in  English  of  the  translator  ! 

I  do  not  know  but  I  have  been  on  too  much  of  a  drive  all 

winter,  for  besides  writing  my  book  I  have  been  paint- 

"cond'ct     ^"S  pictures  for  friends,  and  am  now  at  work  on  some 

New  York,  wild  roses  for  Mrs.  D.'s  ecolden  wedding:  next  Monday, 

1S76.  and  yesterday  I  wrote  her  some  verses  for  the  occa- 
sion. The  work  at  the  Hippodrome  took  a  great  deal 
of  my  time,  and  there  is  a  poor  homeless  fellow  now  at  work  in 
my  garden,  whom  it  was  my  privilege  to  lead  to  Christ  there, 
and  who  touched  me  not  a  little  this  morning  by  bringing  me 
three  plants  out  of  his  scanty  earnings.  He  has  connected 
himself  with  our  Mission  and  has  made  friends  there. 

I  do  not  know  what  Faber  says  about  the  silence  of  Christ, 
but  I  know  that  as  far  as  our  own  consciousness  goes,  He  often 
answers  never  a  word,  and  that  the  grieved  and  disappointed 
heart  must  cling  to  Him  more  firmly  than  ever  at  such  times. 
We  live  in  a  mystery,  and  shall  never  be  satisfied  till  we  see 
Him  as  He  is.  I  am  enjoying  a  great  deal  in  a  great  many 
ways,  but  I  am  afraid  I  should  run  in  if  the  gates  opened.     If  I 


WORK    AND   PLAY.  '  455 

go  to  the  Centennial  it  will  be  to  please  some  of  the  family,  not 
myself.  You  ask  about  my  book  ;  it  is  a  sort  of  story  ;  had  tc 
be  to  get  read  ;  I  could  finish  it  in  two  weeks  if  needful. 
When  I  wrote  it  no  mortal  knows  ;  I  should  say  that  about  all 
I  had  done  this  winter  was  to  hold  my  Bible-reading,  paint 
and  work  in  the  revival.  I  have  so  few  interruptions  compared 
with  my  previous  life,  that  I  hardly  have  learned  to  adjust 
myself  to  them. 

We  came  here  on  a  hospitable  invitation  to  spend  a  week  in 

the  Centennial  grounds,  and  yesterday  passed  several 

A^u\ini^r\  hours  in  wandering  about,  bewildered  and  amazed  at 

^^f/u\f'   t^^  hosts  of  things  we  saw,  and  the  host  we  didn't  see. 

JAn'3o,     We  found  ourselves  totally  ignorant  of  Norway,  for 

^^''*'  instance,  whose  contributions  are  full  of  artistic  grace 
and  beauty  ;  and  I  suppose  we  shall  go  on  making  similar 
discoveries  about  other  nations.  As  to  the  thirty-two  art  gal- 
leries we  have  only  glanced  at  them.  What  interested  me  most 
was  groups  of  Norwegians,  Lapps  and  other  Northerners,  so 
life-like  that  they  were  repeatedly  addressed  by  visitors— v.'on- 
derful  reproductions.  The  extent  of  this  Exhibition  is  simply 
beyond  description.  The  only  way  to  get  any  conception  of 
it  is  to  make  a  railroad  circuit  of  the  grounds. 

I  have  had   a  very  busy  winter  ;  held  a  Bible-reading  once  a 
week,  written  a  book,  painted  lots  of  pictures  to  give  away,  and 

really  need  rest,  only  I  hate  rest We  find  out  where  oui 

hearts  really  are  when  we  get  these  fancied  invitations  home- 
ward. I  look  upon  Christians  who  are,  at  such  times,  reluctant 
to  go,  with  unfeigned  amazement.  The  spectacle,  too  often 
seen,  of  shrinking  from  the  presence  of  Christ,  is  one  I  can  not 
begin  to  understand.  I  should  think  it  would  have  been  a  ter- 
rible disappointment  to  you  to  get  so  far  on  and  then  have  to 
come  back  ;  but  we  can  be  made  willing  for  anything. 
I  am  glad  you  liked  Griselda  ;  I  knew  you  would.' 

The  extreme  heat  and  her  unusually  enfeebled  state  rcn- 

1  How  glad  I  was  to  see  Grisclda's  fair  face  !  She  is  a  .c:em,  and  I  am  sure  will  prove  a 
blec-inj:  as  she  moves  about  the  world  in  her  nobleness  and  puriiy,  so  exceedinj^ly  wom- 
anly and  winning.  The  book  is  full  of  poetry,  and  held  me  si)eIl-bound  to  the  close.  It 
is  veiy  musical,  too,  in  its  rich,  pure  English.  1  don't  know  how  much  of  its  poetic  chann 
lies  in  the  original  or  in  your  rendering,  but  as  it  is,  it  is  "  ,u.st  luvcly."  as  the  girls  say.- 
Letter  from  Miis  Warner. 


456  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

dered  the  summer  a  very  trying  one  ;  but  its  discomfort  was 
in  a  measure  relieved  by  the  extraordinary  loveliness  of  the 
Dorset  scenery  this  season.  There  was  much  in  this  scenery 
to  remind  her  of  Chateau  d'Oex,  where  she  had  passed  such 
happy  weeks  in  the  summer  and  autumn  of  1858.  If  not 
marked  by  any  very  grand  features,  it  is  pleasing  in  the  highest 
degree.  In  certain  states  of  the  atmosphere  the  entire  land- 
scape— Mt.  Equinox,  Sunset  Mountain,  Owl's  Head,  Green 
Peak,  together  with  the  intervening  hills,  and  the  Avhole  valley 
— becomes  transfigured  with  ever-varying  forms  of  light  and 
shade.  At  such  times  she  thought  it  unsurpassed  by  anything 
of  the  kind  she  had  ever  witnessed,  even  in  Switzerland.  The 
finest  parts  of  this  enchanting  scene  were  the  play  of  the 
cloud-shadows,  running  like  wild  horses  across  the  mountains, 
and  the  wonderful  sunsets ;  and  both  were  in  full  view  from 
the  windows  of  her  "  den."  Her  eyes  never  grew  weary  of 
feasting  upon  them.  The  cloud-shadows,  in  particular,  are 
much  admired  by  all  lovers  of  nature.  * 

We  have  been  here  four  weeks,  and  ought  to  have  been  here 

_  six,  for  I  can  not  bear  heat ;  it  takes  all  the  life  out 

To  ^  _  ' 

Mrs.  George  of  me.     Last  night  when  I  went  up  to  my  room  to 

KaSfeis,    go  ^o  bed,  the  thermometer  was  90° Are  you 

'^is'^6^'       "*-*^  going  to  the  Centennial  ?     George  and  I  went  on 
first  and  stayed  at  Dr  Kirkbride's.     They  were  as 

*  In  a  letter  written  in  1879,  just  after  a  visit  to  Dorset,  Dr.  Hamlin  thus  refers  to  them: 
"  Now  that  I  have  seen  again  those  lights  and  shadows  of  the  Green  Mountains,  as 
they  lie  around  your  Dorset  home,  I  must  tell  you  why  they  awakened  such  deep  emo- 
tions. Forty-one  years  ago  I  was  married  to  Miss  Henrietta  Jackson,  the  youngest 
daughter  of  the  venerated  and  beloved  pastor  of  Dorset,  and  we  left  that  lovely  valley  for 
our  oriental  home.  I  had  heard  from  her  lips  a  glowing  description  of  the  magic  work 
of  light  and  shade  upon  those  uplands  and  heights  that  lie  west  of  the  valley,  before  I 
had  seen  the  place.  The  first  morning  of  my  first  visit  I  recognised  the  truth  and  accu- 
racy of  her  description,  and  was  forced  to  confess  that,  although  I  had  always  admired 
c.cud-shadows,  I  had  never  seen  Ihem  in  such  rich  display  and  constant  recurrence.  There 
were  certain  days,  which  we  called  field-days,  when  all  their  resources  were  called  out, 
and  they  seemed  hurrying  in  swift  battalions  to  some  great  contest  or  grand  coronation 
£cene.     But  at  other  times  they  rested  in  calm  repose  as  though  the  pulse  of  nature  had 

ceased  to  beat In  our  home  upon  the  Bosphorus  we  were  sometimes  reminded  of 

these  scenes  of  her  native  valley.  When,  occasionally,  the  Black  Sea  clouds  floated  down 
in  broken  masses,  and  floods  of  light  here  and  there  poured  through  the  darkly  shadowed 
landscape,  lighting  up  fragments  of  hill  and  vale  to  the  veiy  summits  of  Alem  Dagh,  hei 
soul  took  flight  to  her  beloved  Dorset  and  all  other  thoughts  vanished." 


WORK  AND   PLAY.  4S7 

kind  as  possible,  and  we  all  enjoyed  a  great  deal.     What  inter* 
ested  me  most  were  wonderful  life-like  figures  (some  said  wax, 
but  they  were  no  more  wax  than  you  arc)  of  Laplanders,  Swedes, 
and  Norwegians,  dressed  in  clothes  that  had  been  worn  by  real 
peasants,  and  done  by  an  artistic   hand.     Next   to  tliese  came 
the  Japanese  department  ;  amazing  bronzes,  amazing  screens 
(§i,ooo  a  pair,  embroidered  exquisitely),  lovely  flowers  painted 
on  lovely  vases,  etc.,  etc.,   etc.,  ad   infinitum.     The    Norwegian 
jewelry  was  also  a  surprise  and  delight ;  I  don't  care  for  jew- 
elry generally,  but  these  silvery  lacc-likc  creations  took  me  by 
storm.     Among  other  pretty  things  were   lots  of   English  bed- 
rooms, exquisitely  furnished   and  enormously  expensive.     The 
horticultural  department  was  very  poor,  except  the   rhododen- 
drons, which  drove  me  crazy.     I  only  took  a  chair  twice.     Vou 
pay  sixty  cents  an   hour  for  one  with  a  man  to  propel  it,  but 
can  have  one  for  three  hours  and  make  your  husband  (or  wife  !) 
wheel  you.     You  do  not  pay  entrance  fee  for  children  going  in 
your  arms,  and  I  saw  boys  of  eight  or  nine  lugged  in  by  thci. 
fathers  and  mothers.     We  think  everybody  should  go  who  can 
afford   it.     Several  countries  had   not  opened   when   we   were 
there  ;  Turkey  and  Spain,  for  instance  ;  and  if  Switzerland  was 
ready  we  did  not  see  it.  The  more  I  think  of  the  groups  I  spoke 
of,  the  more  I  am  lost  in  admiiiUion.    A  young  mother  kneeling 
over  a  little  dead  baby,  and  the  stern  grief  of  the  strong  old 
grandfather,  brought  a  lump  into  my  throat  ;  the  young  father 
was  not  capable  of  such  grief  as  theirs,  and  sat  by,  looking  sub- 
dued and  tender,  but  nothing  more.    The  artist  must  be  a  groat 
student  of  human   nature.     I  went,  every  day,  to   study   these 
domestic  groups  ;  at  first   they  did  not  attract  the  crowd  ;  but 
later  it  was  next  to  impossible  to  get  at  them.     Every  one  was 
taken  from   life,  and  you  see  the  grime  on  their  knuckles.     Al- 
most   every   face    expressed    strong  and    agreeable    character. 
There  were  very  few  good  and  a  great  many  bad  pictures.     Of 
statuary    "The   Forced  Prayer"  was  very  popular;  the  child 
nas  his  hands  folded,  but  is  in  anything  but  a  saintly  temper 
and  two  tears  are  on  his  cheeks.     I  should  like  to  own  it.     If  1 
had  had  any  money  to  spare  I   should  have  bought  something 
from  Japan  and  something  from  Denmark.    I  do  not  think  any 
one  can  realise,  who  has  not  been   tliere,  what  an  education 
such   an   Exposition    is.     China's  inferiority  to  Japan   I   knew 
nothing  about. 


458  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

A.  goes  out  sketching  every  day.  The  other  day  I  found 
her  painting  a  white  flower  which  she  said  she  got  from 
the  lawn  ;  it  was  something  like  a  white  lockspur,  only  very 
much  prettier,  and  was,  of  course,  not  a  wild  flower,  as  she  sup- 
posed, or,  at  any  rate,  not  indigenous  to  this  soil.  She  declared 
it  had  no  leaves,  but  I  made  her  go  out  and  show  me  the  plant ; 
it  grew  about  ten  inches  high,  with  leaves  like  a  lily,  and  then 
came  the  pure,  graceful  flowers. 

There  has  been  a  great  change  here  in  religious  interest,  the 
foundation  of  which  is  thought  to  have  been  laid  in 
Mrs.  Con-  the  Bible-readings.     I  am  ashamed  to  believe  it,  all  I 
Dorset      Say  and  do  seems  so  flat  ;  but  our  Lord  can  overrule 
^"J-l^'      incompetence.      The    ladies    are    eager    to    have   the 
readings  resumed,  but  I  can  not  undertake  it  unless 
I   get   stronger.      The   Rev.    Mr.   and    Mrs.   Reed   are   doing  a 
quiet  work  among  non-churchgoers  at  the  other  end  of  the  vil- 
lage.    She  has  been  to  every  house  in  the  neighborhood  and 
"compelled   them   to  come  in,"  having   meetings   at  her  ovv^n 
house.     0/  course  the  devil  is  on  hand.     He  reminds  me  of  a  slug 
that  sits  on  my  rose  bushes  watching  for   the    buds  to  open, 
when  he  falls  to  and  devours   them,  instanter.      \  am  sure  it  is 
as  true  of  him  as  of  the  Almighty,  that  he  never  slumbers  or 
sleeps.     His  impertinences  increase  daily. 

One  of  the  last  things  I  did  before  leaving  home  was  to  de- 
cide to  bring  here  one  of  the  Hippodrome  converts,  about 
whom  I  presume  I  wrote  you.  We  knew  next  to  nothing 
about  him,  and  I  could  ill  afford  to  support  him  ;  but  I  was  his 
only  earthly  friend.  He  had  no  home,  no  work,  and  I  felt  I 
ought  to  look  after  him.  We  gave  him  a  little  room  in  the  old 
mill,  and  he  is  perfectly  happy  ;  calls  his  room  his  "castle," 
does  not  feel  the  heat,  takes  care  of  my  garden,  enjoys  haying, 
has  put  everything  in  order,  is  as  strong  as  a  horse,  and  a  com- 
fort to  us  all  ;  being  willing  to  turn  his  hand  to  anything.  In 
the  evenings  he  has  made  for  me  a  manilla  mat,  of  which  I  am 
very  proud.  He  has  been  all  over  the  world  and  picked  up  all 
sorts  of  information.  He  went  to  hear  Mr.  Prentiss'  centennial 
address  on  the  Fourth  at  a  picnic,  and  I  was  astonished  when 
he  came  back  at  his  intelligent  account  of  it.  Everybody  likes 
liim.,  and   he   has   proved   a   regular   institution.     I  would    not 


WORK   AND    TLAV.  459 

have  had  a  flower  but  for  him,  for  I  can  not  work  out  in  such  a 
blazing  sun  as  we  have  had.* 

My  book  is  to  be  called,  I  believe,  "  The  Home  at  Greylock  "; 
but  I  don't  know.  My  husband  and  Mr.  Randolph  fussed  so 
^ver  the  title  that  I  said  it  would  end  in  being  called  "Much 
Ado  about  Nothing."  They,  being  men,  look  at  the  financial 
question,  to  which  I  never  gave  a  thought.  Even  Satan  has 
never  so  much  as  whispered.  Write  to  make  money  ;  don't  be 
too  religious  in  your  books.  Still  he  may  do  it,  no  .v  I  have 
put  it  into  his  head.  How  little  any  of  us  know  what  he  won't 
make  us  do  !  I  enjoyed  the  Centennial  more  than  I  expected 
to  do,  but  got  my  fill  very  soon,  and  was  glad  to  go  home. 

No  account  of  the  Dorset  home  would  be  complete  with- 
out some  reference  to  ''  the  old  mill."  It  had  been  disman- 
tled during  the  war,  but,  at  the  request  of  the  nei-hbors,  was 
now  restored  to  its  original  use.  It  also  contained  the  boys' 
workshop,  a  bathing-room,  an  ice-house,  a  ram,  and  a  bowling- 
alley;  formed,  indeed,  together  with  the  pond  and  the  boat, 
part  and  parcel  of  the  Dorcst  home  itself. 

I  have  hardlv  put  pen  to  paper  since  I  came  here.     I  n^ver 

could  endure  heat  ;  it  always  laid  me  flat.    Yesterday 

''jamrs'    there  was  a  let-up  to  the  torrid  zone,  and  to-day  it  is 

Donashe,  comparatively  cool.      Yesterday  the   mother  of   our 

yuiy%    pastor  here  got  her  release.     I  cried  for  joy,  for  she 

'^^^'      has   been   a  great  sufferer,   and    had   longed   to   die. 

What  a  mystery  death  is  !     I  went  in  to  see  how  she  was,  and 

she   had   just  breathed  her  last,  and  there   lay  her    poor  old 

body   eighty-two   years  old,  looking  as   rent   and   torn  as  one 

•might  suppose  it  would  after  a  fight  of  thirty  years  between 

the  soul  and  itself.     I  have  wondered  if  the  heat,  so  dreadful  to 

many,  had   not  been  good   for  you.      A   rheumatic   boy,   who 

>  On  hearins  of  Mrs.  Prentiss'  death,  the  «'  poor,  ho.ncloss  fellow  "  wrote  to  her  hus 
Land  a  touching  letter  of  sympathy.     The  following:  is  an  extract  from  U  : 

It  was.  1  n,ust  ,cknowledgc,  a  cherished  desire  of  your  dear  departed  '-  V  ^  ^  ' ;  ^  ^^^^^'^^ 
.n  the  foolstcps  ol  the  Lord  Jesus,  and.  to  obtain  that  grace,  I  must  .nvoke  God  ^^^  ;^-;  » 
"ay  accompli'sh  that  great  Kesult.  Dear  sir,  I  wotdd  h.e  to  ^^^J^^^^^::,^^. 
with  a  ^vandcring  life  ;  would  like  to  see  Doi^et  next  Sum.ucr  and  look  on  the  gra^  c  ol  m>  Rrca 
e::frrd  Nothing  could  give  me  g.ea.er  Pleasure  than  to  ^-^  "^^'^^  ^  j:-^;",  ^ 
Christiai  family  •  now,  if  I  h.ad  any  !•  mplnymcnt.  no  matter  how  simple  .n  that  localu>  tna 
then  I  would  1.1  Happy  to  go  next  season  to  your  country  Residence  and  offer  my  scrv- 


winter 
ices  free 


460  THE  LIFE  OF  MRS.    PRENllSS. 

works  for  us  off  and  on,  says  it  has  been  splendid  for  him.  We 
heard  yesterday  that  Dr.  Schaff  had  lost  his  eldest  daughter 
after  a  ten  days'  illness  with  typhoid  fever.  He  has  been 
greatly  afflicted  again  and  again  and  again  by  such  bereave- 
ments, but  this  must  be  hardest  of  all.^  There  is  a  different 
religious  atmosphere  here  now  from  anything  we  have  ever 
known,  The  ladies  hoped  to  begin  the  Bible-readings  right 
off,  but  it  was  out  of  the  question.  I  expect  such  a  number  of 
guests  this  week  that  I  dare  not  undertake  it.  I  wish  you  were 
coming,  too.  How  you  would  enjoy  sitting  on  the  -piazza 
watching  the  shadows  on  the  mountains  !  We  have  had  some 
magnificent  sunsets  this  season.  Mr.  Prentiss  and  I  drive  ev- 
ery night  after  tea,  a  regular  old  Darby  and  Joan.  Generally, 
I  prefer  working  in  the  garden  to  driving,  but  this  time  it  has 
been  too  hot,  and  we  have  next  to  no  flowers.  It  quite  grieves 
me  that  I  have  nothing  to  lay  on  Grandma  Pratt's  '  coffin. 
However,  she  wont  cai'e !  Won't  it  be  nice  to  get  rid  of  these 
frail,  troublesome  bodies  of  ours,  and  live  without  them  !  I 
hope  I  shall  see  j^ou  in  heaven,  with  plenty  of  room  and  no 
rheumatism.  How  could  you  make  such  a  time  over  that  dog- 
gerel ! "  Such  things  are  a  drug  in  this  house.  I  thought  I 
had  a  long  letter  from  you,  and  it  was  that  stuff !  My  last 
book  is  all  printed.  My  husband  kindly  corrected  the  proof- 
sheets  for  me  ;  a  thing  I  hate  to  do.  He  likes  the  book  better 
than  I  do.  I  always  get  tired  of  my  books  by  the  time  they  are 
done.  I  read  very  little  ;  only  some  few  devotional  books  over 
and  over.  I  wonder  if  you  have  read  "  Miracles  of  Faith  "  ? 
It  is  a  remarkable  little  book.  Do  write  and  let  me  know  how 
you  and  your  husband  are.  We  make  great  account  of  our 
afternoon  mail. 

She  alludes  in  the  preceding  letter  to  the  guests  she  was 
expecting.  The  entertainment  of  friends  formed  a  marked 
feature  of  her  Dorset  life ;  and  it  called  into  play  the  bright- 
est traits  of  her  character.  Her  visitors  always  went  away 
feeling  like  one  who  has  been  gazing  upon  a  beautiful  land- 

'  Meeta  Sophia  SchafI  died  July  14,  1S76,  in  the  twenty-first  year  of  her  age.  She  had 
just  returned  from  the  Centennial.  She  was  a  young  lady  of  unusual  loveliness  of  char- 
acter, and  was  deeply  lamented  by  a  wide  circle  of  friends,  both  young  and  old. 

'  A  printed  copy  of  Lines  on  her  Golden  Wedding,  wriUen  -jy  Mrs,  Prentiss. 


WORK  AND   PLAY.  4^1 

scape  or  listening  to  sweet  music,  so  charming  was  her  hospi- 
tality.  One  of  them,  writing  to  her  husband  a  year  after  her 
death,  thus  refers  to  it : 

I  seem  to  see  the  Dorset  hills  now  with  their  beautiful  cloud-shadows 
and  lovely  blue.  I  can  see  in  my  mind  your  pleasant  home  and  all  the  faces, 
including  the  dear  one  you  miss  this  summer.  What  a  delightful  home  she 
made  !  The  "  good  cheer  "  she  furnished  for  the  minds,  hearts,  and  bodies 
of  her  guests  was  something  remarkable.  I  shall  never  forget  my  visits  ;  I 
was  in  a  state  of  high  entertainment  from  beginning  to  end.  What  enter- 
taining stories  she  told  !  what  practical  wisdom  she  gave  out  in  the  most 
natural  and  incidental  way  !  and  what  housekeeping!  Common  articles  of 
food  seemed  to  possess  new  virtues  and  zest.  I  always  went  away  full  of 
the  marvels  of  the  visit,  as  well  as  loaded  down  with  many  little  tokens  of 
her  kindness  and  thoughtfulness. 

What  interested  me  most  at  the  Centennial  was  in  the  Main 

Building,  and  two  things  stand  out,  prominently,  in 

SiS;      my  memory.     The  first  is  groups  of  Swedish  figures, 

Dorset  Sept.  ^^essed   in   national   costume,   and   all   done  by   the 

Q,   1070.  .  1  J  J 

hand  of  a  real  artist.  Especially  examine  the  dead 
baby  and  its  weeping  mother  and  rugged  old  wounded  grand- 
father ;  it  will  remind  you  of  the  words,  "A  little  child  shall 
lead  them."  Next  in  interest  to  me  were  the  Japanese  bronzes 
and  screens  ;  next  wares  from  Denmark,  butterflies  and  feath- 
ers from  Brazil.  In  the  art  department  a  picture  called  "  Betty  " 
in  the  British  division,  up  in  a  corner,  and  in  statuary  "  The 
Forced  Prayer."  Both  my  girls  agreed  with  me  in  the  main  ; 
the  boys  cared  most  for  Machinery  hall,  and  my  husband  for 
Queensland,  for  which  I  did  not  care  a  fig. 

Last  Sunday  was  as  perfect  here  as  with  you.  My  husband 
preached  at  Pawlet,  about  six  miles  from  here,  and  I  went  with 
him.  He  preached  a  very  earnest  sermon  on  prayer.  My 
Bible-reading  is  thronged,  and  I  can't  but  hope  the  Holy  Spirit 
IS  helping  my  infirmities  and  blessing  souls.  My  heart  yearns 
over  these  women,  many  of  whom  have  faces  stamped  with 
care.  There  is  a  class  here  that  nobody  has  any  idea  how  to 
get  at.  To  meet  their  case,  apostolic  work  needs  to  be  done. 
Do  you  know  that  Irishmen  are  buying  up  the  New  England 
farms  at  a  great  rate  ? 

The  extraordinary  heat  has  worked  unfavorably  on   both 


462  THE   LIFE   OF   xMRS.    PRENTISS. 

my  husband  and  myself  ;    he   has  been   under   medical  treat* 

To  Mrs     "^i^^^t  most    of    the   time,   forlorn    and    depressed.     I 

Doitaghe,   have  iust  pushed  throuc^h  as  I  could  ;  my  Bible -read- 

iiept.xo,    mg,  which  has  been  wonderfully  attended,  bemg  the 

^^^^*      only  work  I  have  done.    The  weather  is  cool  now  and 

I  feel  stronger. 

A  party  of  young  people,  who  were  coming  to  call  on  A., 
were  upset  just  above  us  ;  two  had  broken  legs,  others  bruises 
and  cuts,  and  one  had  both  knee-pans  seriously  injured.  We 
got  her  here  and  put  her  to  bed,  and  then  I  started  off  to  get 
the  rest  ;  but  the  surgeon,  on  arriving,  decided  they  should  be 
removed  at  once,  and  got  them  all  safely  back  to  Manchester. 

Since   my  last  letter  I   have   been   to   Montreal,    fled   from 
To  Mrs      Dorset,   and  settled  dowm  here,     ^dy  book  is  out  in 
Candied,      England,  and  my  husband  sat  up  till  midnight,  read- 
er:/. 16,  '    ing  an   English   copy  of  it,  although  he    had  heard 
^  "        me  read  it  aloud  when  written,  and  read  it  twice  in 
proof-sheets.     He  thinks  it  will  be  a  useful  book.     I  feel  sure 
you  will  agree  with  me  in  its  main  points.     God  grant  it  may 
send  many  a  bewildered  mother  to  her  knees  !     Miss  S.  called 
here  a  few  days  ago  ;  she  has  written  a  book  called  "  The  Ful- 
ness of  Blessing," — one  object  of  which  is  to  prove  that  sancti- 

fication   is   not,  can   not  be   instantaneous I  do  hope 

the  book  will  do  good.  It  seems  timely  to  me,  for  I  shudder 
when  I  hear  that  A.  and  B.  "professed  sanctification  "  on  sucn 
and  such  a  day.  My  visit  to  Montreal  gave  me  indignant  pain 
when  I  saw  crow^ds  kneeling  to  the  Virgin,  and  not  to  Christ, 
in  those  costly  churches  and  cathedrals. 

As  to  Miss  I   do  not  know  enough  of  her  to  form  an 

opinion  of  her  state  ;  I  incline,  however,  to  think  that  demoniac 
possession  is  sometimes  permitted.  Fenelon,  you  know,  thinks 
we  should  not  be  too  eager  for  spiritual  delight.  He  is  en- 
tirely right  when  he  says  that  the  "nigl-t  of  faith"  may  wit- 
ness a  faith  dearer  to  God  than  that  of  sensible  delight.  I 
Icve  Job  when  he  says,  "Though  He  slay  me,  yet  will  I  trust 
in  Him,"  more  than  I  do  David  when  he  is  in  green  pastures 
and  beside  still  waters  ;  it  does  not  require  much  faith  to  be 
happy  there. 

Nov.  12th. — I  am  glad  Greylock  reached  you  in  safety,  and 


WORK   AXD    I'LAV.  463 

sorry  I  could  not  correct  its  numerous  misprints.  Your  ques 
tion  about  Kitty  1  don't  quite  understand  ;  I  did  not  mean  to 
say  tliat  her  parents  liad  no  more  trouble  with  her,  but  the) 
had  no  more  lights  growing  out  of  self-will  on  both  sides.  I 
know  that  there  is  no  end  to  trouble  with  obstinate  or  other- 
wise  naughty  children,  only  if  the  mother  lives  close  to  Chiist 
the  fault  will  be  on  their  side,  not  hers.  You  speak,  by-the- 
bye,  of  my  using  the  word  Christ  rather  than  the  word  Jesus. 
I  do  so  because  it  means  more  to  my  mind,  and  because  the 
apostles  use  it  much  more  frequently.  1  do  hope  my  book 
will  be  a  comfort  and  help  to  many  well-meaning  but  inexpe- 
rienced mothers.  And  I  wish  I  practised  more  i)erfectly  what 
I  preach.     But    I    have  my  infirmities  and  find  it  bard  to  be 

always  on  my  guard A.  and  I  are  taking  drawing-lessons 

of  a  very  superior   French   teacher,  who  offers  us  the  privilege 
of  spending  our  whole  time  in  her  studio,  with  "conseil." 

The  Home  at  Grcylock  was  published  the  latter  part  uf 
October.  It  embodied,  as  she  said,  the  results  of  thirt>-  \cars 
of  experience  and  reflection.  Its  views  uf  marriage  and  uf 
the  office  of  a  Christian  mother  found  frequent  expression  iu 
her  other  writings  and  in  her  correspondence.  She  i)laced  re- 
ligion and  love  alike  at  the  foundation  of  a  true  home  ;  the 
one  to  connect  it  with  heaven  above,  the  other  to  make  it  a 
heaven  upon  earth.  She  enjoined  it  ujkju  her  young  friends, 
as  they  desired  enduring  domestic  felicity,  to  marry  first  of  all 
for  love.  To  one  of  them,  who  was  tempted,  as  she  feared, 
to  marry  out  of  gratitude  rather  than  from  love,  she  wrote: 

We  women  are  exacting  creatures  ;  and  you  can  not  please 
us  unless  we  have  the  whole  of  you.  (Jli,  if  you  knew  the 
sacredness,  the  beauty,  the  sweetness  of  married  life,  as  1  do, 
you  would  as  soon  think  of  entering  heaven  without  a  wedding 
garment,  as  of  venturing  on  its  outskirts  even,  save  by  the  force 
of  a  passionate,  overwhelming  power  that  is  stronger  than 
death  itself  ! 

How  warmly  slie  s)'mpathised  with  mothers,  especially  with 
young  mothers,  in  their  peculiar  experiences  and  how  great 
she  thought   their  privilege  to  be,  her  writings  testify.     The 


464  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.   PRENTISS. 

same  trait  is  brought  out  still  more  fully  in  her  letters.  ''  Only 
a  mother,"  she  wrote,  ''  knows  the  varied  discipline  of  hopes 
and  fears  and  joys  and  sorrows  through  which  a  mother  passes 
to  glory— for  this  is  the  mother's  pathway,  and  she  rarely 
walks  on  a  higher  road  or  one  that  may  so  lead  to  perfection.'' 
Some  of  her  letters  addressed  to  bereaved  mothers  have  al- 
ready been  given.  But  if  her  heart  was  always  touched  with 
grief  by  the  death  of  an  infant,  it  seemed  to  leap  for  joy 
whenever  she  heard  that  in  the  home  of  a  friend  a  child  w^as 
coming  or  had  just  arrived.  Here  are  samples  of  her  letters 
on  such  occasions. 

You  little  know  into  what  a  new^  world  you  are  going  to 
To        be  introduced  !     I  wouldn't  be  a  bit  frightened,  if  I 

Mrs. ,  ^ygj-e  you  .  it  is  ever  so  much  more  likely  that  you'll 

^1874°'  get  through  safely,  than  that  you  will  not ;  and  then 
what  joy !  You  will  be  a  very  loving,  devoted  mother,  and  I 
hope  this  little  one  will  only  be  the  beginning  of  a  houseful. 
1  spoke  for  ten,  but  only  had  six  ;  and  our  dear  Lord  had  to 

take  two  of  them  back I  have  just  run  over  your  letter 

again,  and  want  to  reiterate  my  charge  to  you  to  feel  no  fear 
about  your  future.  If  you  live  and  have  a  child,  your  joy  will 
be  wonderful,  but  if  you  do  not  live  (here)  it  will  be  becauife 
you  are  going  to  dwell  with  Christ,  which  is  better  than  having 
a  thousand  children.  So  I  see  nothing  but  bright  sides  for 
you. 

By  this  time  you  ought  to  be  able  to  receive  letters  ;  at  any 
rate.  I  am  going  to  write  one  and  you  can  do  as  you 

Same,  please  about  reading  it.  Well,  isn't  a  baby  an  insti- 
Aj>n/ 18,   tution  ?     I  am  sure  you  had  no  idea  what  a  delightful 

^^^'^*  thing  it  is  to  be  a  mother,  and  that  you  have  had  a 
most  bewildering  experience  of  both  suffering  and  joy.  I  shall 
want  to  hear  all  about  the  young  gentleman  when  you  get 
strong  enough  to  write  an  enthusiastic  letter  about  him  ;  nor 
bavel  any  objection  to  hear  how  his  mother  is  behaving  under 
these  new  circumstances. 

What  does  your  husband  think  of  the  upsetting  of  all  home 
customs  and  the  introduction  of  this  young  hero  therein? 
Thank  him  for  sending  me  the  news  in  good  season.     I  should 


WORK   AND.  PLAY.  465 

not  have  liked  it  from  a  stranger.  And  by-the-bye,  don't  let 
your  children  say  parp-er  and  marm-er,  as  nine  children  out  of 
ten  do.  I  daresay  you  never  meant  they  should,  having  a  little 
mite  of  sense  of  your  own.  Now  this  is  all  a  new  mother 
ought  to  read  at  once,  so  with  lots  of  congratulations  and 
thanksgivings,  good-bye. 

The  following  is  an  extract  from  a  letter  to  another  friend, 
dated  Feb.  20,  1875  : 

Your  last  letter  was  so  eloquent  in  its  happiness  that  in 
writing  an  article  for  a  magazine  on  the  subject  of  education, 
I  could  not  help  beginning  "The  King  is  coming,"  and  depict 

ing  his  heralds I  am  indeed  rejoicing  in  your  joy,  an*] 

hope  the  little  queen  will  long  sit  on  the  right  royal  throne  of 
your  heart.  Keep  me  posted  as  to  Miss  Baby's  progress.  I 
know  a  family  where  the  first  son  was  called  "  Boy  "  for  years, 
the  servants  addressing  him  as  "  Master  Boy." 

Here  are  the  opening  sentences  of  the  article  referred  to : 

The  King  is  at  hand.  Heralds  have  been  announcing  his  advent  in 
language  incomprehensible  to  man,  but  which  woman  understands  as  she 
does  her  alphabet.  A  dainty  basket,  filled  with  mysteries  half  hidden,  half 
displayed  ;  soft  little  garments,  folded  away  in  ranks  and  files  ;  here  delicate 
lace  and  cambric ;  there  down  and  feathers  and  luxury.  The  King  has 
come.  Limp  and  pink,  a  nothing  and  nobody,  yet  welcomed  and  treasured 
as  everything  and  everybody,  his  wondrous  reign  begins.  His  kingdom  is 
the  world.  His  world  is  peopled  by  two  human  beings.  Yesterday,  they 
were  a  boy  and  a  girl.  To-day,  they  are  man  and  woman,  and  are  called 
father  and  mother. 

Their  new  King  is  imperious.  He  has  his  own  views  as  to  the  way  he 
shall  live  and  move  and  have  his  being.  He  has  his  own  royal  table,  at 
which  he  presides  in  royal  pomp.  His  waiting-maid  is  refined  and  (.-du- 
cated — his  superior  in  every  way.  He  takes  his  meals  from  her  when  he 
sees  fit;  if  he  can  not  sleep,  he  will  not  allow  her  to  do  so.  His  treasure'- 
is  a  man  whom  thousands  look  up  to,  and  reverence,  but,  in  this  little 
world,  he  is  valued  only  for  the  supplies  he  furnishes,  the  equipages  he  pur- 
chases, the  castle  in  which  young  royalty  dwells.  The  picture  is  not 
unpleasing,  however;  the  slaves  have  the  best  of  it,  after  all. 

The  reign  is  not  very  long.  Two  years  later,  there  is  a  descent  from 
the  throne,  to  make  room  for  the  Queen.  She  is  a  great  study  to  him.  He 
puts  his  fingers  into  her  eyes  to  learn  if  they  are  little  blue  lakelets.  He 
^o 


466  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.   PRENTISS. 

grows  chivalrous  and  patronizing.  So  the  world  of  home  goes  on.  The 
King  and  Queen  give  place  to  new  Kings  and  Queens,  but,  though  dethroned, 
they  are  still  royal ;  their  wants  are  forestalled,  they  are  fed,  clothed,  in- 
structed, but  above  all,  beloved.  When  did  their  education  begin?  At  six 
months?  A  year?  Two  years?  No;  it  began  when  they  began;  ihe 
moment  they  entered  the  little  world  they  called  theirs.  Every  touch  of 
the  mother's  hand,  every  tone  of  her  voice,  educates  her  child.  It  never 
remembers  a  time  when  she  was  not  its  devoted  lover,  servant,  vassal, 
slave.  Many  an  ear  enjoys,  is  soothed  by  music,  while  ignorant  of  its  laws. 
So  the  youngest  child  in  the  household  is  lulled  by  uncomprehended  harmo- 
nies from  its  very  birth.  Affections  group  round  and  bless  it,  like  so  many 
angels;  it  could  not  analyse  or  comprehend  an  angel,  but  it  could  leel  the 
soft  shelter  of  his  wings.' 

The  following  was  addressed  to  a  friend,  whose  home  was 
already  blessed  with  six  fine  boys  : 

Dorset,  Sept.  i6,  iS68. 

Dear  Mr,  B.  : — I  am  just  as  glad  as  I  can  be  !  I  said  it  was 
a  girl,  and  I  knew  it  was  a  girl,  and  that  is  the  reason  it  is  a 
girl.  Give  my  best  love  to  Mrs.  B.,  and  tell  her  I  hope  this 
little  damsel  will  be  to  her  like  a  Sabbath  of  rest,  after  the  six 
week  and  work  days  she  has  had  all  along.  It  is  hard  to  tell 
which  one  loves  best,  one's  girls  or  one's  boys,  but  it  is  pleasant 

to  have  both  kinds I  hope  your  place  has  as  appropriate 

a  name  as  ours  has  had  given  to  it — ^'  Saints'  Rest "  !  ! — and 
that  you  will  fill  it  full  of  saints  and  angels  ;  only  let  them  be 
girls,  you  have  had  boys  enough. 


III. 

TheYeariS77.  Death  of  her  Cousin,  the  Rev.  Charles  H.  Payson.  Illness  and  Death 
of  Prof.  Smith.  "Let  us  take  cur  Lot  in  Life  just  as  it  comes."  Adorning  one's 
Home.  How  much  Time  shall  be  given  to  it  ?  God's  Delight  in  His  beautiful 
Creations.  Death  of  Dr.  Buck.  Visiting  the  sick  and  bereaved.  An  Ill-turn.  Goes 
to  Dorset.     The  Strangeness  of  Life.     Kauinfels.     The  Bible-reading.     Letters. 

During  the  early  months  of  1877  Mrs.  Prentiss'  sympathies 
were  much  excited  by  sickness  and  death  among  her  friends. 

1  The  article  is  entitled  Educated  while  Educating^  and  appeared  in  the  Brooklyn 
Journal  of  Education  for  March,  1875. 


WORK  AND   PLAY.  467 

"I  spend  a  deal  of  time,"  she  wrote,  "at  funerals  and  goin^^  to 
see  people  in  affliction,  and  nev^cr  knew  anything  like  it."  And 
wherever  she  went,  it  was  as  a  daughter  of  consolation.  The 
whole  year,  indeed,  was  marked  by  a  very  tender  and  loving 
spirit,  as  also  by  unwonted  thought  fulness.  But  it  was  marked 
no  less  by  the  happiest,  most  untiring  activity  of  both  hands 
and  brain.  During  the  month  of  January-  she  wrote  the  largci 
portion  of  a  new  serial  for  The  Christian  at  Work.  It  would 
seem  as  if  she  foresaw  the  end  approaching  and  was  pressing 
toward  it  with  eager  steps  and  a  glad  heart. 

The  great  event  of  last  week  was  cousin  Charles'  unex- 

Toher     P^^ted  death.'     Your  father  and  I  attended  the  fune- 

eidest  Son,  ral,  in  his  church,  which  was  crowded  to  ovcrflowini:' 

New  York,       .  '  .  '     .  ^  ^  ^      ^  .     .  "^ 

ja7i.  28,  With  a  weepmg  audience.  Most  of  the  ministers  we 
'  ^^"  know  were  there.  Cousin  G.  came  on  Friday  nii^ht 
and  said  nothing  would  comfort  him  like  hearing  your  father 
preach  and  he  promised  to  do  so.  I  went  with  him  to  Inwood, 
and  we  have  just  got  back.  Your  father  preached  a  beautiful 
sermon  and  paid  a  glowing  tribute  to  cousin  Charles  in  it, 
and  I  am  very  glad  I  went.  After  the  funeral  yesterday  I 
came  home  and  put  up  some  chicken-jelly  I  had  made  for  Prof. 
Smith,  and  carried  it  down  to  him  ;  there  I  met  Dr.  Gould,  of 
Rome,  who  had  seen  him,  and  said  he  considered  his  case  a 
very  critical  one.  Feb.  ^t/i. — Your  father  was  invited  to  repeat  his 
lecture  on  Recollections  of  Hurstmonceux  and  Rydal  Mount, 
and  did  so,  3^esterday  morning,  in  our  lecture-room,  which  was 
filled  with  a  fine  audience,  mostly  strangers.  What  have  you 
on  your  natural  bracket  ?  And  have  you  put  up  your  leaves  on 
your  windows  ?  Mine  are  looking  splendidly.  II.  is  l)urnini» 
one  of  them  with  a  magnifying-glass  your  fallu-r  .i;av('  me  at 
Christmas.  The  sun  does  lie  delightfully  in  this  r.x.ni.  I  must 
now  go  to  the  Smiths.     All  send  love. 

Prof.  Smith  passed  away  peacefully  in  the  early  morning  on 
the  7th  of  February.  One  of  his  last  conscious  utterances  was 
addressed  to  Mrs.  Prentiss  :  '*  I  have  cea.sed  to  cumber  myself 
with  the  things  of  time  and  sense,  and  have  had  some  precious 

'The  Rev.   C.    II.    Payson.     See  the   interestin{;   Memoir  of   him,  entitled   "All   fu» 
Christ,"  edited  by  his  biother  (Jeurge,  and  published  by  the  American  Tract  Society. 


468  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

thoughts  about  death."  Henry  Boynton  Smith  was  one  of 
those  men  who  enrich  Hfe  by  their  presence,  and  seem  to  render 
the  whole  world  poorer  by  their  absence.  He  was  strongly 
attached  to  Mrs.  Prentiss  ;  for  more  than  forty  years  the  rela- 
tion between  him  and  her  husband  resembled  that  of  brothers  ; 
Mrs.  Smith  was  one  of  her  oldest  and  most  beloved  friends, 
and  for  a  quarter  of  a  century  the  two  families  had  dwelt  to- 
gether in  unity.  And,  then,  with  one  of  the  saddest  and  one 
of  the  happiest  events  of  her  domestic  history — the  burial  of 
her  little  Bessie,  at  which  he  ministered  with  Christlike  sym- 
pathy, and  at  the  baptism  of  her  Swiss  boy  who  bore  his 
name — he  was  tenderly  associated.  It  is  not  strange,  there- 
fore, that  his  death,  as  well  as  the  wearisome  years  of  invalid- 
ism which  preceded  it,  touched  her  deeply.  What  manner  of 
man  he  was  ;  how  gifted,  wise  and  large-hearted  ;  how  devoted 
to  the  cause  of  his  Lord  and  Saviour;  what  a  leader  and 
master-workman  in  sacred  science  and  in  the  Church  of  Christ ; 
how  worthy  of  love  and  admiration — all  this  may  be  seen  and 
read  elsewhere.' 

Before  I  go  down  to  the  meeting  at  Mrs.  D.'s  I  must  have  a 
little  chat  with  you,  in  reply  to  your  last  two  letters. 
S;/^S",    I  felt  like  shrieking  aloud  when  you  contrasted  your 
^^^-  ^^'    life  with  mine.     But  it  is  impossible  to  state  fully  why. 
Yet  I  may  say  one  thing  ;  I  have  had  to  learn  what 
I  teach  in  loneliness,  suffering,  conflict,  and  dismay,  which  I  do 
not  believe  you  have  physical  strength  to  bear.    The  true  story 
of  my  life  will  never  be  written.     But  whatever  you  do,  don't 
envy  it.     And  I  do  not  mean  by  that,  that  I  am  a  disappointed, 
unhappy  woman  ;  fa?-  from  it.    But  I  enjoy  and  suffer  intensely, 
and  one  insulting  word  about  Greylock,  for  instance,  goes  on 
stinging  and  cutting  me,  amid   forgetfulness  of  hundreds  of 
kind  ones.''     Let  us  take  our  lot  in  life  just  as  it  comes,  cour- 
ageously, patiently,  and  faithfully,  never  wondering  at  anything 
the  Master  does.     I  am  concerned  just  as  you  are  about  my  in- 

1  See  Henry  Boynton  Smith  ;  His  Life  and  Work.  Edited  by  his  Wife.  A.  C. 
Armstrong  &  Son.     iS8o. 

2  His  biographer,  Mr.  INToore,  relates  of  Lord  Byron  that  in  all  the  plenitude  of  hia 
fame,  he  confessed  that  "  the  depreciation  of  tlie  lowest  of  mankind  was  more  painful  to 
him  than  the  applause  of  the  highest  was  pleasing." 


WORK   AND    PLAY.  469 

terest  in  things  of  time  and  sense.  But  I  have  not  tlio  Li.ntest 
doubt  that  if  we  could  have  all  wc  want  in  Christ,  inferior  ob- 
jects would  fade  and  fall.  But  we  live  in  a  strange  world, 
amid  many  claims  on  time  and  thought ;  we  can  not  dwell  in  a 
convent,  and  must  dwell  among  human  beings,  and  fall  more 
or  less  under  their  influence.  We  shall  get  out  of  all  this  by 
and  by.  Feb.  27///. — This  winter  I  am  drawing  in  charcoal  under 
an  accomplished  teacher ;  she  has  so  large  a  class  tliat  I  had  to 
withdraw  from  it  and  take  private  lessons.  She  has  invited  A. 
to  assist  her  in  teaching  little  ones  twice  a  week,  which  mate- 
rially curtails  her  bill.  A.  was  introduced  to  one  youth,  aged 
five,  as  Monsieur  So  and  So  ;  he  had  his  easel,  his  big  portfolio, 
and  charcoal,  in  great  style,  but  only  took  one  lesson,  lie  hated 
it  so.  I  don't  see  what  his  mother  was  made  of.  I  sympathise 
with  your  fear  of  spending  too  much  time  adorning  your  home, 
etc.,  etc.  It  is  a  nice  question  how  far  to  go  and  how  far  to 
stay.  But  I  honestly  believe  that  a  bare,  blank,  prosaic  house 
makes  religion  appear  dreadfully  homely.  We  enjoy  seeing 
our  children  enjoy  their  work  and  their  play  ;  is  our  Father 
unwilling  to  let  us  enjoy  ours  ?  In  a  German  book  '  I  trans- 
lated, a  little  boy  is  very  happy  in  making  a  scrap-book  for  a 
little  friend,  and  God  is  represented  as  being  glad  to  see  him 
so  happy.  And  I  don't  believe  He  begrudged  your  making  me 
that  pretty  picture,  or  did  not  wish  me  to  make  yours.  (By-the- 
bye,  when  you  have  time,  tell  me  how  to  do  it.)  It  seems  to 
me  we  are  meant  to  use  all  the  faculties  God  gives  us  ;  to  abuse 
them  is  another  thing.  I  feel  that  I  am  having  a  vacation,  and 
wonder  how  long  it  is  going  to  last.  I  do  not  know  how  I 
should  have  stood  the  tremendous  change  in  my  life,  through 
my  husband's  change  of  profession,  if  I  had  not  had  this  re- 
source of  painting.  O,  how  I  do  miss  his  preaching  !  How  I 
miss  my  pastoral  work  !  Dr.  Buck  is  on  his  dying  bed,  and 
longing  to  go." 

»  PetcrcJuii  and  Grdchcn.  She  translated  it  at  Gencvrler  during;  the  illness  cf  Iicr 
children. 

2  Dr.  Gurdon  Buck.  He  died  shortly  afterwards.  For  more  than  a  quarter  of  a 
century  Ire  had  been  a  faithful  friend  of  Mrs.  Prentiss,  and  as  their  family  physician  had 
niade  both  her  and  her  husband  his  debtors  alike  by  his  kindness  and  his  skill.  With  • 
generosity  so  characteristic  of  liis  profession,  he  refused,  during;  all  these  years,  to  receive 
any  compensation  for  his  services.  As  a  surpfcon  he  stood  in  the  front  rank  ;  some  of  the 
operations,  performed  by  him,  attracted  wide  attention  for  their  novelty  and  usefulness. 
He  published  an  account  of  them,  with  illustrations,  which  greatly  interested  Mrs.  Prea« 


470  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.   PRENTISS. 

We  had  an  excellent  sermon  from  Dr.  Vincent  this  morning 

which  he  repeated  by  request.     Last  evening  we  had 

id^t%     Chi  Alpha,  and  as  I  saw  this  body  of  men  enter  the 

Neil)  York,  dining-room,  I  wondered  whether  I   had   borne   any 

'isVy.^^'  minister  to  take  up  your  father's  and  my  work  when 

we  lay  it  down. 

\Wi. — I  thought  within  myself,  as  I  listened  to  a  sermon  on  the 
union  of  Christ  and  the  believer,  whether  I  should  have  the 
bliss  of  hearing  you  preach.  Let  me  see  ;  how  old  should  I 
\iave  to  be,  at  soonest  ?  Sixty-two  ;  the  age  at  which  my  an- 
cestors died,  unless  they  died  young.  I  got  a  beautiful  letter, 
a  few  days  ago,  from  a  niinister  in  Philadelphia,  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Miller,  who  has  1,300  members  in  his  church,  and  says  if  he 
could  afford  it  he  would  give  a  copy  of  Greylock  to  every 
young  mother  in  it. 

I  went  to  ^.Irs.  P.'s  funeral  on  Friday.  She  wanted  to  die 
suddenly,  and  had  her  wish.  She  ate  her  breakfast  on  Tues- 
day ;  then  went  into  the  office  and  arranged  papers  there  ; 
her  husband  went  out  at  ten,  and  shortly  after,  she  began  to  feel 
sick  and  the  girls  made  her  go  to  bed.  One  of  them  went  out 
to  do  some  errands,  and  the  other  sat  in  the  room  ;  she  soon 
heard  a  sound  that  made  her  think  her  mother  wanted  some- 
thing, and  on  going  to  her  found  her  dead.  Dr.  P.  got  home 
at  twelve,  long  af.ter  all  was  over.  He  told  me  it  was  the  most 
extraordinary  death  he  ever  heard  of,  but  his  theory  was  that  a 
small  clot  of  blood  arrested  the  circulation,  as  she  had  no  dis- 
ease. I  had  a  talk  with  C.  about  his  wife's  sudden  death.  I 
had  already  written  him  and  sent  him  a  note.  I  cut  from  the 
Evening  Post  the  slip  I  enclose  about  Mr.  Moody's  question- 
drawer.     I  wish  I  could  hope  for  as  sudden  a  death  as  Mrs.  P.'s. 

I  am  glad  you  liked  the  picture.     Did  you  know  that  3'ou 

7,^         can    get  leaves    and  flowers    in    advance    of   spring, 

Mrs.  Con-    by  keeping  twigs  in  warm  water?     I  had  forsythia 

Ap7'ii\6,    bloom,    and  other   things  leafed   beautifully.      It    is 

^  ^^*       said  that   apple  and   pear  blossoms    will    come   out 

tiss.     She  was  almost  as  fond  of  reading  about  remarkable  cases  in  surgery  as  about 
remarkable  criminal  trials. 

Dr.  Buck  was  one  of  the  founders  and  first  ruling  elders  of  the  Church  of  tlie  Cove* 
nant.  His  gratuitous  labors  in  connection  with  the  New  York  Hospital  and  other  public 
institutions  were  very  great.  He  was  a  man  of  solid  worth,  modest,  upright  and  de- 
moted to  his  Lord  and  Master. 


WORK  AND  rr,.\y.  471 

in  the  same  way,  if  placed  in  the  sun  in  glass  cans.  I  have 
been  thinking,  lately,  that  if  I  enjoy  my  imperfect  work,  how 
God,  who  has  made  so  many  beautiful,  as  well  as  useful, 
things,  must  enjoy  His  faultless  creations.  My  work  is  still 
to  go  from  house  to  house  where  sickness  and  death  are 
so  busy.  Mrs.  F.  G.  has  just  lost  her  two  only  children  within 
a  day  of  each  other.  Neither  her  mother  nor  sister  could  go 
near  her  during  their  illness  or  after  their  death,  because  of 
the  flock  of  little  ones  in  their  house,  and  it  was  not  safe  to 
have  a  funeral.  Dr.  Hastings  made  a  prayer  ;  he  said  the  scene 
was  heart-rending. 

May  3^. — Dr.  Storrs  preached  for  us  last  Sunday,  and  said 
one  striking  thing  I  must  tell  you  on  the  passage,  "  They  were 
stoned,  were  sawn  asunder,  they  were  tempted,"  etc.  He  said 
many  thought  the  word  tempted  out  of  place  amid  so  many  hor- 
rors, but  that  it  held  its  true  position,  since  few  things  could 
cause  such  anguish  to  a  Christian  heart  as  ev^en  a  suggestion 
of  infidelity  to  its  Lord.  To  this  a  Kempis  adds  the  hell  of  not 
knowing  whether  one  had  yielded  or  not. 

May  i']th. — "  Misery  loves  company  ";  and  so  I  am  writing  to 
you.  Perhaps  it  will  be  some  consolation  to  you  that  I  too 
have  been  knocked  up  for  two  weeks,  one  of  wliich  I  si"»ent  in 
bed.  Nothing  serious  the  matter,  only  put  down  and  kept 
down  ;  not  agreeable,  but  necessary.  How  astounded  we  shall 
be  when  we  wake  up  in  heaven  and  find  our  hateful  old  bodies 
couldn't  get  in  !  ....  M.  is  making,  and  H.  has  made,  a  picture 
scrap-book  for  a  hospital  in  Syria.  Your  mother  might  enjoy 
that.  We  all  rr^z'^  occupation.  "Imprisonment  with  hard  labor' 
never  seems  to  me  so  frightful  as  imprisonment  and  nothing  to 
do,  does.  Did  you  ever  hear  the  story  of  the  man  who  spent 
years  in  a  dark  dungeon,  idle,  and  then  found  some  piub  in  his 
coat,  which  he  spent  years  in  losing,  and  crawling  about  and 
finding  ? 

Well,  I  have  got  rid  of  a  wee  morsel  of  this  weary  day  in 
'writing  this,  and  you  will  get  rid  of  another  morsel  in  reading 
it.  So  we'll  patch  each  other  up,  and  limp  along  together,  and 
by  and  by  go  where  there  is  no  limping  and  no  patching. 

The  new  serial,  her  Bible-readings,  and  paintini;-.  with  vis- 
its to  sick-rooms  and  to  the  house  of  mourning,  during  the 


472  THE   LIFE   OF    MRS.  PRENTISS. 

early  half  of  this  year,  left  little  time  for  correspondence.  Ilei 
letters  were  few  and  brief  ;  but  they  are  marked,  as  was  her 
life,  by  unusual  quietness  and  depth  of  feeling.  Her  delight 
was  still  to  speak  in  them  a  helpful  and  cheering  word  to  souls 
struggling  with  their  own  imperfections,  or  with  trials  of  the 
way.  A  single  extract  will  illustrate  the  gentle  wisdom  of  her 
counsels : 

I  think  there  is  such  a  thing  as  peace  of  conscience  even  in 
this  life.  I  do  not  mean  careless  peace,  or  heedless  peace  ;  I 
mean  calm  consciousness  of  an  understanding,  so  to  speak,  be- 
tween the  soul  and  its  Lord.  A  wife,  for  instance,  may  say  and 
do  things  to  her  husband  that  show  she  is  human  ;  yet,  at  the 
same  time,  the  two  may  live  together  loyally,  and  be  happy 
And  unless  a  Christian  is  aware  of  having  on  hand  an  idol 
dearer  than  God,  I  see  no  reason  why  he  should  not  live  in 
peace,  even  while  aware  that  he  is  not  yet  finished  (perfect) 
We  love  God  more  than  we  are  aware  ;  vv^hen  He  slays  us  we 
trust  in  Him,  when  He  strikes  us  we  kiss  His  hand. 

Her  own  mood  at  this  time  was  singularly  grave  and  pen- 
sive. She  felt  more  and  more  keenly  the  moral  puzzle  and  con- 
tradictions of  existence.  "  From  beginning  to  end,  in  every 
aspect,"  she  wrote  to  a  friend,  '*  life  grows  more  mysterious  to 
me,  not  to  say  queer — for  that  is  not  what  I  mean.  Such 
strange  things  are  all  the  time  happening,  and  even  good  peo- 
ple doing  and  saying  things  that  nearly  drive  one  wild 

We  live  in  a  mixed  state,  in  a  kind  of  see-saw  :  we  go  up  and 
then  we  go  down;  go  down  and  then  fly  up."  Still  this 
strange,  ever-changing  mystery  of  life,  although  it  sometimes 
perplexed  her  in  the  extreme,  did  not  make  her  unhappy.  "  I 
have  great  sources  of  enjoyment,"  she  adds,  "  and  do  enjoy  a 
good  deal ;  infinitely  more  than  I  deserve." 

Early  in  Jane  she  and  the  younger  children  went  to  Dor- 
set.    On  reaching  there,  she  wrote  to  her  husband : 

Here  we  are,  sitting  by  the  fire  in  our  dear  little  parlor.  We 
made  a  very  comfortable  journey  to  Manchester,  but  the  ride 
from  there  here  was  rather  cheerless  and  cold,  as  they  forgot 
to  send  wraps.    The  neighbors  had  sent  in  various  good  things 


WORK  AND    TLAY.  473 

and  the  strawberries  looked  very  nice.  It  rains,  but  M.  and  1 
have  surveyed  the  garden,  and  she  says  it  is  looking  better 
than  usual. 

I  only  wish  you  were  here.  Your  love  is  intensely  precious 
to  me,  as  I  know  mine  is  to  you.  How  thankful  we  ought  to 
be  that  we  have  loved  each  other  through  thick  and  thin  ! 
This  is  God's  gift.  I  can  not  write  legibly  with  this  pencil,  nor 
see  very  well,  as  it  is  a  dark  day,  and  yet  too  early  for  a  lamp. 

The  latter  part  of  June  she  made  a  short  visit  with  her 
husband  to  Montreal.  A  pleasant  incident  of  this  journey 
was  an  excursion  to  Quebec,  where  two  charming  days  were 
spent  in  seeing  the  Falls  of  Montmorcnci,  the  Plains  of  Abra- 
ham, and  other  objects  of  interest  in  and  about  that  remark- 
able city.  During  the  ride  in  the  cars  from  Montreal  to  St. 
Albans,  she  called  the  attention  of  her  husband  to  a  paragraph 
from  an  English  newspaper  containing  an  account  of  the  death 
of  a  miner  by  an  explosion,  on  whose  breast  was  found  a  lock 
of  hair  inscribed  with  the  name  of  "Jessie."  She  remarked 
that  the  incident  would  serve  as  an  excellent  hint  for  a  stor)^ 
This  was  the  origin  of  Gentleman  Jini^  the  pathetic  little  tale 
published  shortly  after  her  death. 

Soon  after  her  return  from  Montreal  she  began  painting  in 
water-colors,  which  afforded  her  much  delight  during  the  rest 
of  her  life.  The  following  note  to  Mrs.  Ellen  S.  Fisher,  of 
Brooklyn,  dated  July  2d,  will  show  how  her  lessons  were 
taken : 

Will  you  kindly  inform  me  as  to  your  method  of  tcac-hing 
your  system  of  water-colors  by  mail,  and  as  to  terms.  I  have 
not  had  time  to  do  anything  in  that  line,  as  I  had  to  go  to 
Canada  (by-the-bye,  you  can  get  delightful  Chinese  white  paint 
there  in  tubes).  My  daughter  says  she  thinks  she  heard  you 
say  that  you  would  paint  a  little  llowcr-piece  reasonably,  or 
perhaps  you  have  one  to  spare  now.  I  should  like  a  few  wild 
flowers  against  a  blue  sky.  I  got  half  a  dozen  Parian  vases  a« 
Montreal — each  a  group  of  three— and  filled  with  daisies  and  a 
few  grasses,  they  are  exquisite.  Some  of  them  are  in  imitation 
of  the  hollow  toadstools  one  finds  in  the  woods. 


474  THE    LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

Kauinfels   is  a  word  we  invented,  after  spending  no  little 

time,  by  referring  to  a  spot   in  a  favorite   brook  as 

CvJdfa     "the  place  where  the  old  cow  fell  in";   it  looked  so 

Kaui7ifcis,  German  and  pleased  us  so  much  that  we  concluded 

1877.  '  to  give  our  place  that  name.  We  are  fond  of  odd 
names.  We  have  a  dog  Pharaoh  and  a  horse  Shoo 
Fly.  Then  we  had  Shadrach,  Meseck,  and  Abednego  for  cats. 
We  had  a  dog  named  Penelope  Ann — a  splendid  creature,  but 
we  had  to  part  with  her.  My  Bible-reading  began  two  weeks 
ago,  and  neither  rain  nor  shine  keeps  people  away.  For  a 
small  village  the  attendance  is  very  large.  I  do  not  knov;  how 
much  good  they  do,  but  it  is  a  comfort  to  try. 

I  can't  get  over  Miss 's  tragical  end.  She  must  have  suf- 
fered dreadfully.  I  do  not  doubt  her  present  felicity,  nor  that 
she  counts  her  life  on  earth  as  anything  more  than  a  moment's 
space.  I  do  not  feel  sure  that  she  did  me  any  good.  I  saw  so 
much  that  was  morbid  when  she  visited  me  here,  that  I  never 
enjoyed  her  as  I  did  when  I  knew  her  less.  But  there  is  noth- 
ing morbid  about  her  now. 

Yesterday  was  the  first  fine  day  we  have  had  in  a  long  time, 
and,  as   I  sat  enjoying  it   on   the  front  porch,  how  I 


James     wished   I  could   transport   you   here  and  share  these 

Dorief'   mountains  with  you  !    To-day  is  equally  fine,  and  how 

Aug.  20,    gladly  would   I  bottle  it  up  and   send  it  to  you  !     A 

score   of  times   I   have   asked    myself    why  I   do   not 

bring  you  here,  and  then   been  reminded   that  you  can   not 

leave  your  husband. 

I  do  not  write  many  letters  this  summer.  We  have  three 
or  four  guests  nearly  all  the  time.  This  uses  up  what  little 
brain  I  have  left,  and  by  half-past  eight  or  nine  I  have  to  go 
to  bed.  I  am  unusually  well,  but  work  hard  in  the  garden  all 
the  forenoon  and  get  tired.  Yesterday  the  Rev.  Mr.  Reed,  of 
Flushing,  preached  a  most  impressive  sermon  on  the  denial  of 
Belf.  In  the  afternoon  he  preached  to  a  neighborhood  meeting 
at  his  own  house,  to  which  we  three  girls  go,  namely,  M.,  her 
friend  Hatty  K.,  and  myself.  I  give  Thursdays  pretty  much 
up  to  my  Bible-reading — studying  for  it  in  the  morning  and 
holding  it  at  three  in  the  afternoon.  Utter  unfitness  for  this 
or  any  other  work  for  the  Master  Makes  me  very  dependent  on 


WORK   AND    PLAY.  475 

Him.  The  service  is  largely  attended,  and  how  I  get  courage 
to  speak  to  so  many,  I  know  not. 

A.  is  gone  to  Portland  and  Front's  Neck.     Mr.  P.  is  unu- 
sually well  this  summer,  and  has  actually  worked  a  little  in  my 
garden.     He  is  going  to  Saratoga  this  week  to  visit  Mrs.  Bron 
son.  .  INI.  IS  a  kind  of  supplement  to  her  father  ;  I  love  in 

her  what  I  love  in  him,  and  €he  loves  in  me  what  he  loves  ;  we 
never  had  a  jar  in  our  lives,  and  are  more  like  twin-sisters  than 
mother  and  daughter.  Hatty  K.  is  like  a  second  M.  to  me.  At 
this  moment  they  are  each  painting  a  plate.  They  work  all  the 
m.orning  in  the  garden,  and  in  the  afternoon  sit  in  my  room 
sewing  "  for  the  poor  "  like  two  Dorcases,  or  drive,  or  row  on 
the  pond.  They  also  study  their  Greek  Testament  together 
like  a  pair  of  twins.  Just  here  Mr.  P.  came  driving  up  to  take 
me  out  to  make  calls.  We  made  three  together,  and  then  I 
made  three  alone.  Now  we  are  going  to  have  tea,  and  should 
be  glad  if  you  could  take  it  with  us. 

Since   you   left,   I   have  been  very  busy   in   various  ways 
To  Mrs.    arnong  other  things,  helping  Hatty  collect   her  last 
Coiidict     trophies,  pack  her  various  plants,  and  the  like.     Then 
^ept.  13,    there  is  a  woman,  close  by,  who  is  very  sick  and  very 
^^'      poor,  and  the  parson  and  his  wife  (meaning  himself 
and  myself)  must  needs  pack  a  big  basket  of  bread,  butter,  tea, 
apples,  etc.,  for  her  watchers  and  family,  with  extract  of  beef 
for  her.     That  was  real  fun,  as  you  may  suppose.     I  mean  to 
devote  Thursdays  to  such  doings,  including  the  Bible-readings* 
I  took  for  my  Bible-reading  this  afternoon,  the  subject  of  con- 
fession of  sin,  and  should  really  like  to  know  what  perfection- 
ists would   say   to   the   passages   of    Scripture    relating    to    it. 
However,  I   know  they  would    explain    them   away  or  throw 
them  under  the  table,  as  they  do  all  the  Bible  says  about  tlie 
discipline  of   life.      Our  bad  Pharaoh   lifted   up   his  voice  in 
every  hymn  at  Mrs.  Reed's  last  Sunday,  and  little  Albert  fairly 
shrieked  with  laughter.     If  next  Sunday  is  pleasant  we  are  to 
g?  to  Pawlet  to  preach.     Good-night.' 

*  •♦  One  of  my  brightest  recollections  of  this  sea'=on  at  Dorset  is  our  la'^t  Sunday  before 
returning  to  town.  We  went  in  the  phaeton  to  Pawlot,  where  I  preached  for  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Aiken.  The  morning  was  pleasant,  the  road  lay  through  a  lovely  mountain  valley, 
and  the  beauty  of  nature  was  made  perfect  by  tlie  sweet  Sabbath  stillness ;  and  out 
tlioughts  were  in  unison  witji  the  scene  and  the  day      I  preached  on  Rest  in  Christ,  and 


47<^  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.   PRENTISS. 

Excuse  my  keeping  your  pictures  so  long.  It  is  owing  to 
To  Mis  "^3^  having  so  much  company.  We  feel  it  a  duty  to 
Fisher,     share  our  delightful  home  here  with  friends. 

IC a  7u  ft/els,  ,,r.i,  1  •  1    • 

Sept.  15,  Will  you  send  me  some  more  pictures,  and  in  your 

^  ^'^'  letter  please  tell  me  how  to  make  the  light-green  in 
the  large  arbutus  leaf  ;  I  tried  all  sorts  of  experiments,  but 
failed  to  get  such  a  toned-down  tint.  My  copy  is  pretty,  as  I 
have  improved  a  good  deal  on  the  v/hole  ;  but  my  work  looks 
parvenu.  I  had  to  use  a  powerful  magnifying-glass  to  puzzle 
out  your  delicate  touches,  and  your  work  bore  the  test,  it  is  so 
well  done.  My  work,  viewed  in  the  same  way,  is  horrid.  A. 
has  been  to  Portland  and  found  there  some  exquisite  placques  ; 
some  of  them  of  a  very  delicate  cream  color  ;  others  of  a  least 
suspicion  of  pink.  She  began  to  paint  thorn  apples  on  one  ; 
but  a  day  or  two  later,  found  some  of  the  foliage  we  had  thrown 
away,  turned  to  most  delicious  browns  ;  so  she  painted  the 
leaves  in  those  shades,  only — and  the  effect  is  richly  and  grave- 
ly autumnal.     I  hope  your  eyes  are  better. 


IV. 


Return  to  Town.  Recollections  of  this  Period.  "Ordinary"  Christians  and  spiritual 
Conflict.  A  tired  Sunday  Evening.  "We  may  make  an  Idol  of  our  Joy."  Publi- 
cation of  Pemaqiiid.     Kezia  Millet. 

She  returned  to  town  early  in  October  and  began  at  once 
to  prepare  for  the  winter's  work.  Her  industry  was  a  marvel. 
The  following  references  to  this  period  are  from  reminiscences, 
written  by  her  husband  after  her  death : 

She  lost  not  a  (;lay,  scarcely  an  hour.  The  next  eight  months  were 
amon^  the  busiest  of  her  life  ;  and  in  some  respects,  I  think,  they  were  also 
among  the  happiest.  She  resumed  her  painting  with  new  zeal  and  delig-ht. 
It  was  a  never-failing  resource,  when  other  engagements  were  over.  Hour 
after  hour,  day  after  day,  and  week  after  week  she  would  sit  near  the  west- 

the  service  was  very  comforting  to  us  both.  How  well  I  recall  the  same  drive  and  a  sim- 
ilar sei-vice  early  in  September  of  1876,  when  prayer  was  my  theme  !  What  sweet  talks 
and  sweeter  fellowship  we  had  together  by  the  way,  going  and  coming !  " — Recoliec- 
t ions  a/  1S77--8. 


WORK   AND    PLAY.  477 

em  window  of  her  sunshiny  chamber,  absorbed  in  this  fascinating  occupa- 
tion. Rarely  did  I  fail  to  find  her  there,  on  going  in  to  kiss  her  good-bye. 
as  I  started  for  my  afternoon  lecture.  How  often  the  scene  comes  back 
agair; !  Were  1  myself  a  painter  I  could  reproduce  it  to  the  life.  Her 
posture  and  expression  of  perfect  contentment,  her  quick  and  eager  move- 
ments, all  are  as  vividly  present  to  my  mind,  as  if  I  saw  and  parted  from 
her  there  yesterday  !  One  morning  each  week  was  devoted  to  her  Bible- 
reading  ;  the  others,  when  pleasant,  were  generally  spent  in  goiiig  down 
town  with  M.  in  quest  of  painting  materials,  shopping,  making  calls,  etc., 
etc. 

She  was  much  exercised  in  the  early  part  of  the  winter  by  a  burglary, 
which  robbed  her  of  a  beautiful  French  mantel  clock  given  her  on  our  silver 
wedding-day  by  a  dear  friend  ;  and  by  the  loss  of  my  watch,  stolen  from 
me  in  the  cars  on  my  way  home  from  the  Seminaiy — a  beautiful  watch 
with  a  chain  made  of  her  hair  and  that  which  once  "  crowned  little  heads 
laid  low."  She  had  ordered  it  of  Piguet,  when  we  were  in  Geneva  in  185!:;, 
and  given  it  to  me  in  memory  of  our  marriage.  But  her  grief  over  the 
loss  of  the  watch  was  small  compared  with  mine,  then  and  even  since. 
What  precious  memories  can  become  associated  with  such  an  object !  One 
of  the  books  which  she  read  during  the  winter  was  "  Les  Miserabies  "  by 
Victor  Hugo.  She  read  it  in  the  original  in  a  copy  given  her  by  Miss 
Woolsey.  She  was  quite  captivated  by  this  work,  and  some  of  its  most 
striking  scenes  and  incidents  she  repeated  to  me,  during  successive  morn- 
ings, before  we  got  up.  Her  power  of  remembering  and  reproducing,  in 
ail  its  details,  and  with  all  the  varying  lights  and  shades,  any  story  which 
she  had  read  was  something  almost  incredible.  It  always  seemed  to  me 
like  magic.  Her  father  possessed  the  same  power  and  perhaps  she  inher- 
ited it  from  him.' 

The  following  letter  will  show  that  while  her  mind  was 
still  exercised  about  the  doctrines  taught  by  writers  on  the 
"Higher  Life"  and  "Holiness  through  Faith,"  it  was  in  the 
way  of  a  deepening  conviction  that  these  doctrines  pre  not 
in  harmony  with  the  teaching  of  Scripture  or  with  Christian 
experience.     Referring  to  some  of  these  writers,  she  says  : 

I  have  not  only  no  unkind  feeling  towards  them,  but  have 
7.^^       no  doubt  they  have   lived   near  to   Christ.     But   this 
Chrisiian   \  bclicve  to  liavc  bccn  their  state  of  mind  for  years, 
Oct.  21',     though  perhaps  not  consciously  :  Most  Christians  are 
1877.       "ordinary."     Nearly  all  are  a  set  of  miserable  doubt- 
ers     Most  of  them  believe  the  Christian  life  a  warfare.      Most 

'  Recollections  0/  1S76-7. 


478  THE    LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

of  them  imagine  it  is  also  a  state  of  discipline,  and  make  much 
of  chastening,  even  going  so  far  as  to  thank  God  for  His  strokes 
of  Fatherly  love  !  Strange  love,  to  be  sure  !  Thev  also  fancy 
they  can  work  out  their  own  salvation. 

Now  we  are  not  "  ordinary "  Christians.  We  understand 
God's  Word  perfectly  ;  and  when  He  says,  "  Work  out  your  own 
salvation,"  He  means  nothing  by  it  except  this,  that  He  will 
work  it  in  you  to  will  and  to  do,  and  you  are  to  do  nothing, 
but  let  Him  thus  work.  And  furthermore,  we  know  His  mind 
beyond  dispute  ;  we  can  not  err  in  judgment.  Therefore,  if 
you  doubt  our  doctrine,  it  is  the  same  as  doubting  God,  and 
you  should  fall  on  your  knees  and  pray  to  read  Scripture  as 
we  do. 

As  to  the  Christian  life  being  a  conflict,  why,  you  "  ordinary  " 
Christians  are  all  wrong.  Satan  never  tempts  us,  though  he 
tempted  our  Lord  ;  it  comes  natural  to  us  to  go  into  Canaan 
with  one  bound  ;  the  old-fashioned  saints  were  ridiculous  in 
"  fighting  the  good  fight  of  faith."  Look  at  the  characters  in  the 
Bible,  "  resisting  unto  blood,  striving  against  sin  ";  what  blun- 
derers they  were  to  do  that !  ....  In  our  enlightened  day 
nobody  is  "chastened";  it  used  to  be  done  to  every  son  the 
Father  received  and  it  was  a  token  of  His  love.  He  knows 
better  now.  He  chastens  no  one  ;  or  if  He  does,  we  will  cover 
it  up  and  ignore  it ;  religion  is  all  rapture,  and  this  is  not  a 
scene  of  probation.  Still  if  you  insist  that  you  have  been 
smitten,  it  only  shows  how  very  "  ordinary  "  you  are,  and  how 
angry  God  is  with  you. 

Now  you  may  ask  why  I  have  taken  time  to  write  this,  since 
you  are  not  led  away  by  these  errors.  Well,  they  are  pleasant 
and  very  plausible  writers,  and  it  has  puzzled  me  to  learn  just 
where  they  were  wrong.  So  I  have  been  thinking  aloud,  or 
thinking  on  paper,  and  perhaps  you  may  find  one  or  more  per- 
sons entangled  in  this  attractive  web,  and  be  able  to  help  them 
out.  How  a  good  man  and  a  good  woman  ever  fell  into  such 
mischievous  mistakes,  I  can  not  imagine 

As  to  you  and  me,  I  see  nothing  strange  in  the  weaning 
from  self  God  is  giving  us.  It  is  natural  to  believe  that  He 
weans  us  from  the  breast  of  comfort  in  which  we  had  delighted, 
because  He  has  strong  meat  in  store  for  us.  I  know  I  was 
awfully  selfish  about  my  relation  to  Christ,  and  went  about  foj 


WURK    AND    TLAV. 


479 


years  on  tip-toe,  as  it  were,  for  fear  of  disturbing  and  driving 
Him  away  ;  but  I  do  not  know  that  I  should  dare  to  live  so 
again.  And  how  better  can  He  show  us  our  weakness  than  by 
making  it  plain  that  we,  who  thought  we  were  so  strong  in 
prayer,  are  almost  "dumb  before  Him"!  My  dear  friend,  I 
believe  more  and  more  in  the  deep  things  of  God. 

"  Strength  is  born 
In  the  deep  silence  of  long-suffering  hearts, 
Not  amid  joy." 

Imagine  soldiers  getting  ready  for  warfare,  being  told  by 
their  commander  that  they  had  no  need  to  drill,  and  had  noth- 
ing to  do  but  drink  nectar!  As  to  being  brought  low,  I  will 
own  that  I  have  not  been  entirely  left  of  God  to  my  own  de- 
vices and  desires  ;  if  I  had  been,  I  should  have  gone  overboard 
He  had  such  a  grip  of  me  that  He  couldnt  let  go.  I  saw  a  man 
apply  a  magnet  to  steel  pens  the  other  day,  and  that's  the  way 
I  clung  to  God  ;  there  was  no  power  in  me  to  hold  on,  the 
magnetism  was  in  Him,  and  so  I  hung  on.  Wasn't  it  so  with 
you  ? 

And  now  to  change  the  subject  again-;  if  you  have  any 
faded  ferns,  vines,  leaves  on  hand,  you  can  paint  and  make 
them  beautiful  again.  For  a  light  wall,  paint  them  with  Cale- 
donian brown,  and  they  will  have  a  very  rich  effect.  I  expect 
a  patent-right  for  this  invention. 

The  vivid  sense  of  human  weakness  and  of  the  sharp  disci- 
pline of  life,  which  she  expresses  in  this  letter,  was  deepened 
by  hearing  what  a  sea  of  trouble  some  of  her  friends  had  been 
suddenly  engulphed  in.  Early  in  October  she  wrote  to  one 
of  them  : 

For  some  time  l)eforc  I  left  Dorset,  your  image  met  me 
everywhere  I  went,  and  I  felt  sure  something  was  happening 
to  you,  though  not  knowing  whether  you  were  enjoying  or  suf- 
ff'.ring.  And  since  then  there  has  been  nothing  I  could  do  for 
you  but  to  pray  that  your  faith  may  bear  this  test  and  that  you 
may  deeply  realise  that — 

God  is  the  refuge  of  Mis  saints, 
When  storms  of  sharp  distress  invade. 


480  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.  PRENTISS. 

The  longer  I  live  the  more  conscious  I  am  of  human  frailty, 
and  of  the  constant,  overwhelming  need  we  all  have  of  God's 

grace I  can  not  but  hope  things  will  turn  out  better 

than  they  seem.  But  if  not,  there  is  God  ;  nothing  of  this  sort 
can  take  Him  from  you.  You  have  longed  and  prayed  for 
holiness  ;  this  fearful  event  may  bring  the  blessing.  May  God 
tenderly  bless  and  keep  you,  dear  child. 

But  vivid  as  was  her  sense  of  human  weakness  and  of  the 
imperfections  cleaving  to  the  best  of  men,  while  yet  in  the 
flesh,  she  still  held  fast  to  the  conviction,  uttered  so  often  in 
"  Urbane  and  His  Friends  "  and  in  her  other  writings,  that  it 
is  the  privilege  of  every  disciple  of  Jesus  to  attain,  by  faith,  to 
high  degrees  of  Christian  holiness,  and  that,  too,  without  con- 
suming a  whole  lifetime  in  the  process.  In  a  letter  to  a  young 
friend  she  says  : 

Your  letter  shows  me  that  I  have  expressed  my  views  verv 
inadequately  in  Urbane,  or  that  you  have  misunderstood  what 

I  have  said  there "There  is  a  shorter  way";  a  better 

way  ;  God  never  meant  us  to  spend  a  lifetime  amid  lumbering 
machinery  by  means  of  which  we  haul  ourselves  laboriously 
upward  ;  the  work  is  His,  not  ours,  and  when  I  said  I  believed 
in  "  holiness  through  faith,"  I  was  not  thinking  of  the  book  by 
that  title,  but  of  utterances  made  by  the  Church  ages  before  its 
author  saw  the  light  of  day.  We  can  not  make  ourselves  holy. 
We  are  born  sinners.  A  certain  school  believe  that  they  are 
*'  kept "  by  the  grace  of  God  from  all  sin.  I  do  not  say  that 
they  are  not.  But  I  do  say  that  I  think  it  requires  superhuman 
wisdom  to  kiiow  positively  that  one  not  only  keeps  all  God's 
law,  but  leaves  no  single  duty  undone.  Think  a  minute.  Law 
proceeds  from  an  infinite  mind  ;  can  finite  mind  grasp  it  so  as 
to  know,  through  its  own  consciousness,  that  it  comes  up  to 
this  standard  ?  On  the  other  hand,  I  do  believe  that  a  way  has 
been  provided  for  us  to  be  set  free  from  an  "  evil  conscience  "; 
that  we  may  live  in  such  integrity  and  uprightness  as  to  be  at 
peace  with  God  ;  not  being  afraid  to  let  His  pure  eye  range 
through  and  through  us,  finding  humanity  and  w^eakness,  but 
also  finding  something  on  which  His  eye  can  rest  with  delight — ■ 
namely,  His  own  Son.  Every  day  I  live  I  see  that  faith  is  my 
only  hope,  as  perhaps  I  never  saw  it  before Read  over 


WORK   AND    PLAY.  48 1 

again  the  experience  of  Antiochus  ;  he  got  in  early  life  what 
dear  Dr. only  found  on  his  deathbed,  and  so  may  you. 

I  am  too  tired  on  Sunday  evenings  to  find  much  profit   in 
reading,   and    have   been   sitting    idle   some   minutes, 
Miss  E.    asking  myself  how  I  should  spend  the  hour  till  bcd- 
^JiTS'  time,  if  I  could  pick  and  choose  among  human  occu- 
Oct.^z,    pations.     I  decided  that  if  I  had  just  the  right  kind 
of  a  neighbor,  I  should  like  to  have  her  come  in,  or  if 
there  was  the  right  kind  of  a  little  prayer-meeting  round  the 
corner,  I  would  go  to  that.     Then  I  concluded  to  write  to  you, 
in  answer  to  your  letter  of  July  24.     I  write  few  letters  during 
the  summer,  because  it  seems  a  plain  duty  to  keep  out  of  doors 
as  much  as  I  possibly  can  ;  then  we  have  company  all  the  time, 
and  they  require  about  all  the  social  element  there  is  in  me. 
We  feel  that  we  owe  it  to  Him  who  gives  us  our  delightful 
home    -3   share   it   with    others,  especially  those  who   get    no 
mountain  breezes  save  through  us  ;  of  some  I  must  pay  travel- 
ling expenses,  or  they  can  not  come  at  all.     Their  enjoyment  is 
sufficient   pay.     My   Bible-reading  takes   all   the   time   of   two 
days  not  spent  in  outdoor  exercise,  as  I  have  given  up  almost 
everything  of  help  in  preparation  for  it  but  that  which  is  given 
me  in  answer  to  prayer  and  study  of  the  Word.     I  am  kept,  to 
use   a  homely   expression,  with   my   nose  pretty  close   to   the 
grindstone  ;  in  other  words,  am  kept  low  and  little.     But  God 
blesses  the  w^ork  exactly  as  if  I  were  a  better  woman.     Some- 
times I  think  hoiv  poor  He  must  be  to  use  such  instruments  as 
He  does. 

How  is  the  niece  you  spoke  of  as  so  ill  and  so  happy?  For 
my  part  I  am  confounded  when  I  see  people  hurt  and  distressed 
when  invited  home.  How  a  loving  Father  must  feel  when  His 
children  shrink  back  crying,  "  I  have  so  much  to  live  for  !  "  or, 
in  other  words,  so  little  to  die  for.  It  frightens  me  sometimes 
to  recall  such  cases. 

And  now  I  am  going  to  tote  my  old  head  to  bed.  It  is  50 
years  old  and  has  to  go  early. 

With  young  children,  and  artistic  work  to  do,  the  wonder  is 

not  that  you  have  to  neglect  other  things,  but  that 

y^jjlfi^,'    you  ever  find  time  to  attend  to  any  one  outside  of 

^^£-  3^'    house  and  home.     I  do  not  want  you  to  make  a  care 

and  trouble  of  me  ;  I  feel  it  a  privilege  to  try  even  to 

31 


4^2  THE   LIFE   OF  MRS.   PRENTISS. 

copy  anything  from  your  hand,  and  am  willing  to  bide  my 
time.  It  is  shocking  to  think  of  your  summer's  work  being 
burned  up  ;  no  money  can  compensate  for  such  a  loss — I  hate 
to  think  of  it.  I  have  had  your  landscape  framed,  and  it  is  the 
finest  thing  in  the  house. 

Nov.  c}tk. — I  have  your  apple-blossoms  ready  to  mail  with 
this.  I  found  the  subject  very  difficult,  and  at  one  time  thought 
I  should  have  to  give  it  up  ;  but  your  directions  are  so  clear 
and  to  the  point  that  I  have  succeeded  in  getting  a  picture  we 
all  think  pretty,  though  wanting  in  the  tender  grace  of  yours. 

The  picture,  which  is  a  gentle  blaze  of  beauty,  has  just 
reached  me.  We  have  had  burglars  in  the  house,  and  one  of 
my  songs  of  praise  is  that  they  did  not  take  the  little  gem  I 
got  from  you  last  summer.  Glad  you  are  a  woman  and  not 
all  artist. 

As  to  the  running  fern,  I  paint  it  the  color  of  black  walnut 
^  and  round  placques  it  looks  like  carving.     Emerald 

Condici,  green  I  hate,  but  it  is  a  popular  color,  and  A.  was 
^1877^^^'  obliged  to  put  it  into  the  flower  pictures  she  painted 
on  portfolios.  I  am  glad  you  are  still  interested  in 
your  painting.  I  have  just  finished  the  second  reading  of  Miss 
Smiley's  book,  and  marked  passages  which  I  am  sure  you  will 
like.  I  will  mail  my  copy  to  you.  As  to  joy — "  the  fruits  of 
the  Spirit "  come  naturally  to  those  in  the  Spirit,  and  joy  is 
one.  But  we  may  make  an  idol  of  our  jo}^,  and  so  have  to 
part  with  it.  There  may  come  a  period  when  God  says,  vir- 
tually, to  the  soul,  "  You  clung  to  Me  when  I  smiled  upon  and 
caressed  you  ;  let  Me  see  how  you  will  behave  when  I  smile 
and  speak  comfortably  no  more."  Fenelon  says,  "  To  be  con- 
stantly in  a  state  of  enjoyment  that  takes  away  the  feeling  of 
the  cross,  and  to  live  in  a  fervor  of  devotion  that  keeps  Para- 
dise constantly  open — this  is  not  dying  upon  the  cross  and  be- 
coming nothing."  ' 

When  I  look  at  the  subject  at  a  d  "stance,  as  it  were,  remem- 
beiing  that  this  life  is  mere  preparation   for  the  next,  it  seems 

*  '^  Better  is  it  sometimes  to  go  down  into  the  pit  with  him,  who  beholding  darkness 

and  bewailing  the  loss  of  consolation,  crieth  from  the  bottom  of  the  lowest  hell,  My  God, 

my  God,  why  hast  Thou  forsaken  me  .>  than  continually  to  walk  arm  in  arm  with  angels, 

to  sit,  as  it  were,  in  Abraham's  bosom,  and  to  have  no  thought,  no  cogitation  but  this, 

/  t/iafik  my  God  it  is  not  with  me  as  it  is  with  other  tneii.''  " — Hooker. 


WORK    AND    PT.AY.  483. 

Ulzely  that  we  shall  have  religious  as  well  as  other  discipline  ;  if 
we  ascend  the  mount  of  Transfiguration  it  is  not  that  wc  may 
dwell  there,  though  it  is  natural  to  wish  we  could.  And  the  fact  is 
no  matter  what  professions  of  rapture  people  make,  if  they  be- 
lieve in  Christ  and  love  Him  as  they  ought  to  do,  what  they  have 
enjoyed  will  be  nothing  when  compared  with  going  to  live  with. 
Him  forever,  surrounded  by  sanctified  beings  all  united  in 
adoring  Him.  When  I  think  of  this  my  courage  grows  apace, 
and  I  say  to  myself,  I  may  never  live  in  heaven  again  here  be- 
low ;  but  I  certainly  shall,  above  ;  and  can't  I  be  patient  till 
then  ?  I  wonder  if  you  know  that  I  am  going  to  begin  a  Bible- 
reading  on  the  first  Wednesday  in  December  ?  I  have  a  very 
kind  letter  from  Mr.  Peter  Carter,  who  says  Kezia  would  make 
the  fortune  of  any  book. 

Kezia  is  one  of  the  characters  in  Pcmaquid ;  or,  a  Story 
of  Old  Times  in  'Nczv  England,  then  recently  published.  She 
had  written  it  with  "indescribable  case  and  pleasure,"  to  use 
her  own  words,  mostly  during  the  previous  January.  The 
pictures  of  New  England  life— especially  its  religious  life— in 
old  times  are  vivid  and  faithful ;  and  the  character  of  Kezia 
Millet  for  originality,  quiet  humor,  and  truth  to  nature,  sur- 
passes any  other  in  her  writings,  with  the  exception,  perhaps, 
of  Aunt  Avery  in  "  Fred  and  Maria  and  Me." 

The  following  is  an  extract  from  a  letter  of  Mr.  Hal  lock, 
the  publisher  of  "  The  Christian  at  Work,"  dated  Aug.  25, 
1877,  in  which  he  begged  her  to  gratify  its  readers  by  telling 
them  more  about  Ruth  and  Juliet.  She  accordingly  added 
some  pages  to  the  last  chapter,  although  not  quite  enough  to 
satisfy  the  curiosity  about  Juliet  : 

Let  me  express  to  you  vc\y  persona!  thanks  for  your  most  excellent  seriai. 
1  feel  that  it  has  done  a  real  good  to  thousands.  You  \\qc(\  to  be  placed  in 
my  position,  receiving  hundreds  of  letters  daily  from  your  readers,  to  be  able 
to  fully  appreciate  how  intensely  interested  they  are  in  the  story.  It  docs 
not  seem  to  satisfy  them  to  feel  assured  of  Ruth's  marriaK^e,  but  they  want 
to  be  there  and  see  it.  Juliet,  too,  is  not  with  them,  as  with  you,  a  mere  im- 
personation, but  a  living  reality,  and  they  will  never  rest  till  they  hear  from 
her.  If  I  was  a  betting  man  I  would  bet  five  to  one  that  what  your  husband 
struck  out,  is  just  exactly  what  is  wanted.  What  do  we  men  know  about 
such  things,  anyhow  ? 


484  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.  PRENTISS. 

A  lady  friend,  well  qualified  to  judge,  writes  to  her : 

I  have  read  "  Pemaquid,"  and  have  laughed  till  1  cried,  then  cried  and 
laughed  together.  In  my  humble  opinion  it  is  the  brightest  book  you  have 
written.  You  know  how  to  make  a  saint  and  how  to  make  a  sinner.  As 
for  old  Kezia  Millet,  with  her  great  loving  heart,  if  she  is  not  a  model  of 
Christian  ''  C07isiste7icy"  and  a  natural  born  poet,  where  will  you  find  one  } 
She  is  perfectly  fascinating.  How  do  you  keep  your  wit  so  ready  and  so 
bright  ?  I  suppose  you'll  answer,  "  by  using  it."  The  chapter  which  con- 
tains Mrs.  Woodford's  interview  with  Rev.  Mr.  Strong  (the  dear  old  saint) 
in  her  penitential  mood,  is  very,  very  admirable. 

Before  the  year  quite  departs,  I  must  tell  you,  my  dear  INIar- 
y,^  garet,  how  glad  I  am  that  you  appreciate  my  dear, 

Mrs.  George  good  bad  Kezia.  It  is  nineteen  years  since  I  read 
Dec.  20,  Adam  Bede,  but  I  remember  Mrs.  Poyser  in  general. 
'^^^'  Kezia  is  not  an  imitation  of  her  ;  the  main  points  of 
her  character  were  written  out  long  before  Adam  Bede  ap- 
peared ;  I  destroyed  the  book  in  which  I  trotted  her  out,  but 
kept  her,  and  once  in  a  while  tried  her  on  my  husband,  but  as 
he  did  not  seem  to  see  it,  put  her  away  in  her  green  box,  biding 
my  time.  As  to  Juliet,  my  good  man  loathes  so  to  read  about 
bad  people  that  he  almost  made  me  cut  out  all  my  last  mention 
of  her.  I  was  in  an  unholy  frame  when  I  did  it,  and  with  rea- 
son, for  they  who  like  Pemaquid  best,  say  it  was  a  mistake 
not  to  dispose  of  her  in  some  way.  But  as  to  Mrs.  Woodford 
being  a  model  mother,  I  did  not  aim  to  make  her  a  model  any- 
thing. All  I  wanted  of  her  was  to  bring  out  the  New  England 
pecularities  as  they  would  appear  to  a  worldly  stranger.  As  to 
all  parties  seeming  indifferent  about  Juliet,  you  may  be  right  ;  I 
was  behind  the  scenes  and  knew  they  were  not ;  but  as  I  say, 
what  T  thought  the  best  part  of  her,  George  made  me  cut  out. 
No,  I  never  knew  any  one  sing  exactly  like  Kezia,  but  there  are 
such  cases  on  record.  There  was  "  the  Singing  Cobbler,"  whose 
wife  complained  of  him  in  court,  and  he  defended  himself  so 
wittily  in  verse,  that  everybody  sided  w^th  him,  and  his  wife 
forgave  his  offence,  whatever  it  might  be.^ 

J  A  list  of  Mrs.  Prentiss'  writings,  with  brief  notices  of  some  of  them,  will  be  found  al 
Uie  end  of  the  appendix,  p.  568. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

FOREVER  \V1TII   THE   LORD. 

1878. 

••  But  a  bound  into  home  immortal,  AncJ^blessed,  blessed  years." 

I. 

Enters  upon  her  last  Year  on  Earth.  A  Letter  about  The  Home  at  Grejiuck.  Met 
Motive  in  writing  Books.  Visit  to  the  Aquarium.  About  "  Worry."  Her  Paint- 
ing. Saturday  Afternoons  with  her.  \Miat  she  was  to  her  Friends.  Resemblanco 
to  ]\Iadame  de  BrogUe.  Recollections  of  a  Visit  to  East  River.  A  Picture  of  her 
by  an  old  Friend.     Goes  to  Dorset.     Second  Advent  Doctrine.     Last  Letters. 

Mrs.  Prentiss  crossed  the  threshold  of  her  last  year  on 
earth  with  hands  and  thoughts  still  unusually  busied.  Her 
weekly  Bible-reading,  painting  in  oils  and  in  water-colors, 
needle-work,  and  other  household  duties,  left  her  no  idle  mo- 
ment. "  My  fire  is  so  full  of  irons,"  she  wrote,  "  that  I  do 
not  know  which  one  to  take  out."  Nor  was  her  heart  less 
busy  than  her  hands  and  brain.  Twice  in  January,  once  in 
February,  and  again  in  April,  death  invaded  the  circle  of  her 
friends  ;  and  when  her  friends  were  in  trouble  she  was  always 
in  trouble,  too.'  These  deaths  led  to  earnest  talk  with  Ikt 
husband  on  the  mystery  of  earthly  existence,  and  on  the 
power  of  faith  in  Christ  to  sustain  the  soul  in  facing  its  great 
trials.  ''  I  am  filled  with  ever  fresh  wonder  at  this  amazing 
power,"  she  said.  Such  subjects  always  interested  her  deeply  ; 
never  more  so  than  at  this  time,  when,  although  she  knew  it 
not,  her  feet  were  drawing  so  near  to  the  pearly  gates. 

The  keynote  of  her  being  throughout  this  last  winter  was 
owe  of  unwonted  seriousness.  A  certain  startling  intensity  of 
thought  and   feeling  showed  itself  every  now  and   then.     It 

>  She  was  specially  touched  by  the  sudden  decease  of  Mrs.  Harriet  Woolsey  Hoige,  of 
Philadelphia,  to  wiium  bolli  fur  lier  mollicr's  and  her  own  sake  she  was  warmly  atuched. 

(4S5) 


4^6  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

was  painfully  evident  that  she  was  under  a  severe  strain, 
both  physical  and  mental.  Again  and  again,  as  spring  ad-i 
vanced,  the  anxiety  of  her  husband  was  aroused  to  the  highest 
pitch  by  what  seemed  to  him  indications  that  the  unresting, 
ever-active  spirit  was  fast  wearing  away  the  frail  body.  At 
times,  too,  there  was  a  light  in  her  e3^e  and  in  her  face  an 
•*  unearthly,  absolutely  angelic  expression" — to  use  her  own 
words  about  her  little  Bessie,  six  and  twenty  years  before — 
that  filled  him  with  a  strange  wonder,  and  which,  after  her  de- 
parture, he  often  recalled  as  prophetic  of  the  coming  event 
and  the  glory  that  shoulS  follow. 

But  while  to  his  ear  an  undertone  of  unusual  seriousness, 
deepening  ever  and  anon  into  a  strain  of  the  sweetest  tender- 
ness  and  pathos,  ran  through  her  life  during  all  these  early 
months  of  1878,  there  was  little  change  in  its  outward  aspect. 
She  was  often  gay  and  full  as  ever  of  bright,  playful  fancies. 
Never  busier,  so  was  she  never  more  eager  to  be  of  service  to 
her  friends— and  never  was  she  more  loving  to  her  children,  or 
more  thoughtful  of  their  happiness.  She  proposed  for  their 
gratification  and  advantage  to  write  four  new  books,  one  for 
each  of  them,  provided  only  they  and  their  father  would  fur- 
nish her  with  subjects.  The  plan  seemed  to  please  her  greatly, 
and,  had  she  been  spared,  would  probably  have  been  carried 
into  effect — for  it  was  just  the  sort  of  stimulus  she  needed  to 
set  her  mind  in  action.  Once  furnished  with  a  subject,  her 
pen,  as  has  been  said  before,  always  moved  with  the  utmost 
ease  and  rapidity.  But  while  she  wrote  very  easily,  she  did 
not  write  without  reflection.  She  had  a  keen  sense  of  char- 
acter in  all  its  phases,  and  her  individual  portraits,  like  those 
of  Katy,  Mrs.  Grey  and  Margaret,  Aunt  Avery  and  Kezia 
Millet,  were  worked  out  with  the  utmost  care,  the  result  of 
years  of  observation  and  study  being  embodied  in  them. 

And  here,  in  passing,  it  may  not  be  out  of  place  to  dwell 
for  an  instant  upon  her  motives  and  experience  as  an  author. 
From  first  to  last  she  wrote,  not  to  get  gain  or  to  win  ap- 
plause, but  to  do  good  ;  and  herein  she  had  her  reward,  good 
measure,  pressed  down  and  running  over.  But  of  that  kind 
of  reward  which  gratifies  literary  taste  and  ambitiou.  she  had 


FOREVER  WITH  THE  LORD.  487 

almost  none.  Her  books,  even  those  most  admired  by  the  best 
judges,  and  which  had  the  widest  circulation,  both  at  home 
and  abroad,  attracted  but  little  attention  from  the  press.  The 
organs  of  literary  intelligence  and  criticism  scarcely  noticed 
them  at  all.  Nor  is  it  known  that  any  attempt  was  ever  made 
to  analyse  any  of  her  more  striking  characters,  or  to  point  out 
the  secret  of  her  power  and  success  as  a  writer.  To  be  sure, 
she  had  never  sought  or  counted  upon  this  sort  of  recogni- 
tion ;  and  yet  that  she  was  keenly  alive  to  a  word  of  discrim- 
inating praise,  will  appear  from  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Condict,  datcc' 
Jan.  20th  : 

The  burglary  was  on  this  wise,  as  far  as  we  know.  One 
man  stood  on  the  front  steps,  and  another  slipped  the  hasp  to 
one  of  the  parlor  windows,  stepped  in,  took  a  very  valuable 
French  clock,  given  me  on  my  silver-wedding  day,  and  all  the 
hats  and  overcoats  from  the  hall.  This  was  all  they  had  time- 
to  do  before  our  night-w'atchman  came  round  ;  they  left  the 
window  wide  open,  and  at  4  a.m.  Pat  rang  the  bell  and  informed 
Mr.  Prentiss  that  such  was  the  case.  We  feel  it  a  great  mercy 
that  we  were  not  attacked  and  maltreated.  Poor  A.  was  sitting 
up  in  bed,  hearing  what  was  going  on,  but  being  alone  on  the 
third  floor,  did  not  dare  to  move. 

I  have  just  finished  a  short  story  called  Gentleman  Jim, 
which  I  am  going  to  send  to  Scribner's  ;  very  likely  it  will  get 
overlooked  and  lost.  I  received,  not  long  ago,  a  letter  from 
Mr.  Cady'  about  Greylock,  which  he  had  just  read.  It  was  a 
gratification  to  both  my  husband  and  myself,  as  the  most  dis- 
criminating letter  I  ever  received  ;  and  after  the  first  rush  ol 
pleasure,  the  Evil  One  troubled  me,  off  and  on,  for  two  or  three 
hours,  but  at  last  I  reminded  him  that  I  long  ago  chose  to  cast 
in  my  lot  with  the  people  of  God,  and  so  be  off  the  line  ot 
human  notice  or  applause,  and  that  I  was  glad  I  had  been  ena- 
bled to  do  it,  since  literary  ambition  is  unbecoming  a  Christian 
woman.  There  are  500  other  things  I  should  say,  if  you  were 
here  ! 

The  following  is  a  part  of  the  letter  referred  to: 
Tlie  day  after  "  New  Year's  "  I  was  visited  with  a  severe  cold  and  ^^en« 
'  J.  ClcavclaaJ  (Judy,  Uic  distinguished  aicliilect. 


488  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

era!  prostration  that  has  kept  me  in  x^y  h^^— giving  me  twie  f  As  soon 
as  I  was  strong  enough  to  read  I  had  "  The  Home  "  brought.  After  read- 
ing it  I  felt  I  ought  to  tell  you  how  deeply  I  was  impressed  with  the  useful- 
ness, excellence,  and  spirit  of  the  book.  As  to  its  usefulness,  you  are  to  be 
envied ;  to  have  brought  light,  as  I  believe  you  have,  to  a  large  number  of 
people  upon  the  most  precious  and  vital  interests  of  life,  is  something  worth 
living  and  suffering  for.  The  good  sense,  wisdom,  experience,  and  Chris- 
tian faith  embodied  in  it  must  make  it  a  strong  helper  and  friend  to  many 
a  home  in  trouble  and  to  many  perplexed  and  discouraged  hearts,  who  w!ll 
doubtless  rise  up  some  day  to  call  you  "  blessed." 

Though  you  cared  less  about  the  manner  than  the  matter,  I  was  im- 
pressed by  its  literary  qualities.  The  scene  at  the  death  of  Mrs.  Grey  and 
parting  of  herself  and  Margaret  is  as  highly  artistic  and  beautiful  as  any- 
thing I  can  think  of.  The  contrast  of  good  and  bad,  or  good  and  indiffer- 
ent, is  common  enough  ;  but  the  contrast  of  what  is  noble  and  what  is 
"  saintly  "  is  something  infinitely  higher  and  subtler.  I  can't  imagine  any- 
thing more  exquisitely  tender  and  beautiful  than  Mrs.  Grey's  departure,  but 
it  is  the  more  realised  by  the  previous  action  of  Margaret.  The  few  lines 
in  which  this  is  told  bring  their  whole  character — in  each  case — vividly  be- 
fore you.  But  I  see  that  if  the  book  had  previously  to  this  point  been  dif- 
ferently written  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  have  rendered  this  scene 
so  remarkably  impressive.  The  story  of  "  Eric  "  is  extremely  quaint  and 
charming  ;  it  is  a  vein  I  am  not  familiar  with  in  your  writings.  It  is  a  little 
classic.  This  quaint  child's  story  and  the  death  of  Mrs.  Grey  affect  me  as 
a  fine  work  of  art  affects  one,  whenever  I  recall  them.  The  trite  saying  is 
still  true,  "A  thing  of  beauty  is  a  joy  forever." 

You  know  children  complain  of  some  sweets  that  they  leave  a  bad  taste — 
and  works  of  fiction  often  do  with  me.  I  feel  tired  and  dissatisfied  after  I 
have  passed  out  of  their  excitements ;  but  the  heavenly  atmosphere  of  this 
book  left  me  better;  I  know  that  the  Blessed  Spirit  must  have  influenced 
you  in  the  writing  of  it,  and  I  doubt  not  His  blessing  will  accompany  its 
teachings. 

Now  will  you  exxuse  this  blotty  letter — written  in  bed — and  accept  my 
thanks  for  all  the  good  your  book  has  done  me. 

The  following  is  her  reply : 

Dear  Mr.  Cady  : — Your  letter  afforded  me  more  satisfac- 
tion than  I  knov^  how  to  explain.  It  is  true  that  I  made  up  my 
mind,  as  a  very  young  girl,  to  keep  out  of  the  way  of  literary 
people,  so  as  to  avoid  literary  ambition.  Nor  have  I  regretted 
that  decision.  Yet  the  human  nature  is  not  dead  in  me,  and 
my  instincts  still  crave  the  kind  of  recognition  you  have  given 
me.     I  have  had  heaps  of  letters  from  all  parts  of  this  country, 


FOr^EVER  WITH   THE   LORD.  489 

England,  Scotland,  Ireland,  Germany,  and  Switzerland,  abou* 
my  books,  till  I  have  got  sick  and  tired  of  them.  And  the  reason 
I  tired  of  them  was,  that  in  most  cases  there  was  no  discrimi 
nation.  People  liked  their  religious  character,  and  of  course  I 
wanted  them  to  do  so.  But  you  appreciate  and  understand 
everything  in  Greylock,  and  have,  therefore,  gratified  my  hus- 
band and  myself.  Not  a  soul  out  of  this  house,  for  instance, 
has  ever  so  much  as  alluded  to  my  little  Eric,  except  one  friend 
who  said,  "  We  thought  that  part  of  the  book  forced,  and  sup- 
posed A.  wrote  it."  Nobody  has  ever  alluded  to  Margaret, 
save  yourself.  I  hoped  a  sequel  to  the  book  might  be  called 
for,  when  I  meant  to  elaborate  her  character.     Still,  it  would 

have  been  very  hard I  am  not  sorry  that  I  chose  the 

path  in  life  I  did  choose.  A  woman  should  not  live  for,  or 
even  desire,  fame.  This  is  5^et  more  true  of  a  Christian  woman. 
If  I  had  not  steadily  suppressed  all  such  ambition,  I  might 
have  become  a  sour,  disappointed  w^oman,  seeing  my  best  work 
unrecognised.     But  it  has  been  my  wish  to 

"  Dare  to  be  little  and  unknown. 
Seen  and  loved  by  God  alone." 

Your  letter  for  a  few  hours,  did  stir  up  what  I  had  always 
trampled  down  ;  but  only  for  that  brief  period,  and  then  I  said 
to  myself,  God  has  only  taken  me  at  my  word  ;  I  have  asked 
Him,  a  thousand  times,  to  make  me  smaller  and  smaller,  and 
crowd  the  self  out  of  me  by  taking  up  all  the  room  Himself. 
There  is  so  much  of  that  work  yet  to  be  done,  that  I  wonder 
He  ventures  to  make  so  many  lines  fall  to  me  in  pleasant 
places,  and  that  I  have  such  a  goodly  heritage.  I  trust  He  will 
bless  you  for  your  labor  of  love  to  me. 

I  do  not  like  the  idea  of  your  buying  my  books.  Greylock 
being  for  mothers,  I  never  dreamed  of  men  reading  it.  Have 
you  had  The  Story  Lizzie  Told,  Six  Little  Princesses,  The  Lit- 
tle Preacher,  and  Nidworth  ?  Neither  of  these  is  really  a  child's 
book,  and  the  next  time  you  are  sick,  if  you  have  not  read  them, 
I  iihall  love  to  send  them  to  you.  If  this  is  conceit,  I  have  the 
effrontery  not  to  be  a  mite  ashamed  of  it ! 

The  following  notes  to  Mrs.  Fisher  show  how  pleasantly  she 
sympathised  with  her  teacher  as  a  young  mother,  while  taking 
lessons  of  and  admiring  her  as  an  artist : 


490  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.   PRLNTISS. 

New  York,  February  ^,  1878 

What  a  relief  to  have  the  days  come  long  again  !  On  Satur 
day  I  found  in  A.'s  portfolio  a  study  you  lent  her  ;  exquisite 
ferns  behind  the  fallen  trunk  of  a  tree,  and  a  tiny  group  of 
orange-colored  toad-stools.  I  will  send  it  with  its  two  lovely 
sisters,  when  I  get  through  with  them.  I  wish  you  could  get 
time  to  come  to  see  me,  or  that  I  could  get  time  to  go  to  see 
you.  But  it  is  my  unlucky  nature  to  have  a  great  many  irons 
in  the  fire  at  once.  I  am  glad  your  baby  keeps  well,  and  hope 
he  will  grow  up  to  be  a  great  comfort  to  you. 

Feb.  23^. — I  have  just  received  your  letter.  I  have  my  hands 
full  and  there  is  no  need  to  hurry  you. 

As  to  "  worry  "  not  being  of  faith,  I  do  not  suppose  it  is. 
But  a  young  mother  can  not  be  all  faith.  I  do  not  envy  people 
who  love  so  lightly  that  they  have  no  wringing  out  of  the  heart 
when  they  lose  their  dear  ones  ;  nor  can  I  understand  her  who 
says  she  can  sit  and  read  the  newspaper,  while  her  babies  are 
crying.  *'  None  are  so  old  as  they  who  have  outlived  enthusi- 
asm ";  and  who  should  be  enthusiastic  if  a  mother  may  not  ?  I 
don't  think  God  has  laid  it  up  against  me  that  I  nearly  killed 
myself  for  the  sake  of  my  babies,  because  when  He  took  two 
away  within  three  months  of  each  other,  my  faith  in  Him  did 

not  falter Dear  Mrs.   Fisher,  if  you  love  God  nothing 

but  His  best  things  will  ever  come  to  you.  This  is  the  experi- 
ence of  a  very  young,  old  woman,  and  I  hope  it  will  comfort 
you. 

April  2\st. — Such  a  fight  as  I  have  had  with  your  exquisite 
studies,  and  how  I  have  been  beaten  !  I  failed  entirely  in  the 
golden-rod,  and  do  not  get  the  brilliant  yellow  of  the  mullein 
flower ;  one  could  not  easily  fail  on  the  saggitarius,  and  the 
clover  w^as  tolerable.  I  think  I  will  take  no  more  lessons  at 
present,  as  I  have  much  to  do  in  getting  another  boy  fitted  for 
(;ollege.  After  I  get  settled  at  Dorset  I  want  to  make  a  des- 
perate effort  to  paint  from  nature,  and  if  I  have  any  success, 
send  to  you  for  criticism.  "  Fools  rush  in  where  angels  fear  to 
tread,"  and  I  am  afraid  you  will  be  disgusted  with  my  work, 
which  will   be  in  the  dark,  since  I  have  had  no  instruction  in 

copying  nature Perhaps  you  may  put  alongside  of  the 

rejection  of  your  picture  a  lady's  telling  me  about  one  of  my 
books  into  which  I  had  thrown  an  experience  of  the  last  thirty 


FOREVER  WITH  THE  LORD.  49I 

years  of  my  life,  "  There  was  nothing  in  it."  "  II  faut  soiiffrir 
pour  etre  belle."  As  long  as  memory  lasts  I  shall  rejoice  that 
1  have  seen  and  studied  your  work. 

I  remember  what  a  splendid  fellow  your  baby  was  a  year 
ago.  It  will  depend  on  your  maternal  prayers  and  discipline 
whether  he  grows  up  to  be  your  comfort. 

A  few  extracts  from  her  letters  will  give  further  glimpses 
of  the  manner  in  which  she  passed  these  closing  months  ot 
her  life  in  New  York — especially  of  her  delight  in  the  weekly 
Bible-reading.  One  of  the  ladies  who  attended  it,  thus  refers 
to  that  exercise: 

You  remember  that  for  one  or  two  years  she  was  a  member  of  a  small 
circle,  that  met  weekly  for  Bible-study.  When  the  leader  of  this  circle  re- 
moved from  the  city,  Mrs.  Prentiss  was  urgently  requested  to  become  its 
teacher,  and  she  consented  to  do  so.  For  the  last  four  years  of  her  life  she 
threw  her  whole  soul  into  this  exercise.  Every  week  the  appointed  morning 
found  her  surrounded  by  a  little  group  of  from  eight  to  fifteen,  each  with  an 
open  Bible  and  all  intent  less  to  analyse  the  word  of  God  than  to  feed  upon 
it  and  "grow  thereby."  And  what  a  wonderful  teacher  she  was!  Not 
neglectful  of  any  helps  that  dictionary  or  commentator  might  give,  her 
chief  source  of  light  was  none  of  these,  but  was  received  in  answer  to  the 
promise,  "  If  any  man  will  do  the  will  of  God  he  shall  know  of  the  doctrine." 
She  wished  the  service  to  be  entirely  informal,  and  that  each  one  present 
should  do  her  part  to  aid  in  the  study.  This  brought  out  diverse  views  and 
different  standards  of  opinion.  Here  her  keen  intellect,  her  warm  heart, 
the  rich  stores  of  her  experience  and  her  "  sanctified  common  sense  "  all 
found  play,  and  many  of  the  words  that  fell  from  her  lips  dwell  in  the  mem- 
ory as  liitle  less  than  inspired.  The  last  winter  of  this  service  showed  some 
marked  differences  from  previous  years.  As  eager  as  ever  to  have  questions 
asked  and  answered  by  others,  yet  from  the  moment  she  commenced  to 
speak  she  scarcely  paused  till  the  hour  was  finished,  her  eyes  sparkling  and 
her  whole  manner  intensely  earnest.  Often  those  words  of  the  Psalmist 
passed  through  my  mind.  The  zeal  of  Thy  house  hath  eaten  me  up.  Hci 
love  for  her  work  and  zeal  in  doing  it  were  visibly  consuming  her.  At  the 
last  !neeting  I  asked  her  if  she  should  commence  the  P.ible-rcading  at  Dor- 
set immediately.  She  said  no,  she  must  rest  a  little  ;  she  would  wait  till 
her  garden  was  made.  When  next  I  heard  from  her  flowers  and  lier  Bible- 
study  she  had  made  the  "bound  into  home  immortal."  And  all  who  loved 
her  must  rejoice  with  her  ;  else  have  we  failed  to  learn  one  of  the  clearest 
lessons  of  her  life  :  For  me  10  live  is  Christ,  and  to  die  is  gain. 


492  THE   LIFE   OF  MRS.  PRENTISS. 

Is  it  possible  I  had  portiere  on  the  brain  when  I  wrote  you 

last?     1  thought  I  had  just  caught  the  disease.     I  am 

a>ndict\    very  fond  of  needle-work,  but  for  years  have  nearly 

^^t-^^'    abandoned  it,  because  I  could  not  thread  my  needle. 

1070. 

But  the  portiere  is  made  with  a  large  worsted  needle 
and  will  give  me  pleasant  work  for  the  evening.  I  am  getting 
my  hand  in  on  a  contumacious  closet  door  that  won't  stay  open 
in  my  bedroom 

Imitation  Macaroni, 
V>y  the  author  of  Pemaquid : 

Boil  hominy  overnight.  Next  day's  dinner  prepare  like  mac- 
aroni, with  a  little  milk  and  grated  cheese  and  bake.  Good 
for  a  change  and  cheaper. 

March  gth. — What  an  improvement  on  the  old  fashion  of 
readiftg  the  Bible  is  the  present  search  of  the  Word  !  It  is,  as 
you  say,  fascinating  work.  I  have  just  given  M.  an  admirable 
book  called  "  Emphatic  Diaglott,"  being  the  Greek  Testamen 
with  a  literal  translation  ;  stilt  even  that  can  be  misunderstood 
by  one  who  has  a  false  theory  to  sustain.  The  spiritual  con- 
flicts I  have  passed  through  have  been  a  blessing,  as  I  am  be- 
ginning to  see  ;  I  can  understand  better  how  such  conflicts  may 
prepare  one  for  work.  This  afternoon  I  have,  as  usual,  been 
getting  ready  for  the  Wednesday  reading,  and  as  I  was  re- 
quested to  speak  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  have  been  poring  over  the 
Bible  and  am  astonished  at  the  frequency  and  variety  of  pas- 
sages in  which  He  is  spoken  of.  But  I  feel  painfully  unfit  to 
guide  even  this  little  circle  of  women,  and  would  be  so  glad  to 
sit  as  a  learner. 

Some  of  the  children  were  going,  last  Friday  night,  to  see 
the  Aquarium,  and  some  educated  horses  and  dogs  there,  and 
they  persuaded  me  to  go.  The  performance  was  wonderful, 
but  I  could  not  help  thinking  of  /ill  these  poor  animals  had 
gone  through  in  learning  all  these  incredible  feats  ;  each  horse 
responding  to  his  own  name,  each  dog  barking  in  response  to 
his  ;  two  dogs  hanging  a  third,  cutting  him  down,  when  he  lay 
apparently  dead,  other  dogs  driving  in,  in  a  cart,  and  carrying 
away  the  body  ;  others  waltzing  on  their  hind  ^egs,  and  others 
jumping  the  rope.  Two  horses  played  see-saw,  and  one  rolled 
a   barrel  up  an  inclined  plane  with  his  fore  legs  ;  he  hated  ta 


rOREVER  WITH  THE   LORD.  493 

do  it.     But  the  marvellous  fishes  and  sea-flowers  charmed  me 
most. 

....  I  have   had    a   busy  winter.     Wc   had   a  variety  ol 
^   ,,       losses,  and    I   undertook,   therefore,    to    manufacture 

To  Mrs.  '  .  .  ,  .    ,  1  •    ii 

^eed,  most  of  my  Christmas  gilts,  which  were,  chielly,  um- 
^/^rr^it  brella  racks  ;  this  took  time.     Then  my  Bible-reading 

^^^^'  ures  up  pretty  much  one  day.  I  never  felt  so  unlit 
for  it,  or  more  determined  to  keep  it  up  as  long  as  one 
would  come.  Besides  that,  I  have  read  and  painted  more 
or  less  and  sewed  a  good  deal  ;  on  the  whole,  have  had  more 
vacation  than  work,  at  least  one  looking  on  would  say  so.  But 
we  all  lead  two  lives,  and  one  of  them  is  penetrated  and  un- 
derstood by  no  mortal  eye.  I  heard  such  a  sermon  from  Dr. 
Bevan  last  Sunday  night  on  the  text,  "They  saw  God  and  did 
eat  and  drink."  He  divided  mankind  into  four  classes  :  Those 
who  do  eat  and  drink  and  do  not  see  God  ;  those  who  do  not 
see  Him  and  do  not  eat  and  drink  ;  those  who  see  Him  and  do 
not  eat  and  drink  (he  handled  them  tenderly)  ;  and  those  who 
see  Him  and  yet  eat  and  drink.  I  hope  I  have  made  its  out- 
line plain  to  you.     It  took  hold  of  me. 

I  am  living  my  life  among  breakings-up  ;  you  gone,  Mrs. 

To  Mrs     Smith  about  to  flee  to  Northampton,  and  our  neigh- 

Dcmaghe,   bor    Miss    W.    Storing    her    furniture    and    probably 

^'Tprl'l^:  leaving    New  York   for   good.     On   the    otiier   hand, 

'^^^-      M.  spends  most  of  her  time  in  helping  IMr.  and  Mrs. 

Talbot  get  to  rights  in  apartments  they  have  just  taken.     Mr. 

T.,  as  I  suppose  you  knou',   is  pastor  of  our  Mission  and  as 

good  as  gold.     God  has  been  pleased    greatly  to   bless   two 

ladies,  who  attend  the  Bible-reading,  and  I  am  sure  He  loves 

to  have  us  study  His  Word.     The  more  I  dig  into  it  the  richer 

I   And  it,  and  I  have  had  some  delightful  hours  this  winter  in 

preparing  for  my  Wednesday  work. 

There  is  to  be  a  Women's  Exchange  in  this  tity,  wh.erc 
everything  manufactured  by  them  (except  underclothing)  will 
be  exposed  for  sale  ;  embroidery,  pickles,  preserves,  confection- 
erv,  and  articles  rejected  by  the  Society  of  Decorative  Art.  I 
hJpe  it  will  be  a  success,  and  help  many  worthy  women,  all 
over  the  land,  to  help  themselves I  IhkI  it  hard  m  ron- 


494  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.   PRENTISS. 

sent  to  your  having,  at  your  age,  to  flit  about  from  home  to 
home,  but  a  loving  Father  has  a  mansion  for  you  beyond  all 
the  changes  and  chances  of  this  strange  complicated  life.  If 
He  gives  you  His  presence,  that  will  be  a  home.  I  wish  you 
could  visit  us  at  Dorset. 

A  visit  to  Dorset  was  afterward  arranged,  and  one  of  Mrs. 
Prentiss'  last  letters  was  addressed  to  this  old  friend,  giving 
her  directions  how  to  get  there.^ 

My  last  Bible-reading,  or  rather  one  of  the  last,  was  on 
To  Mrs.    P^^y^^  ;  a-s  I  could  uot  do  justice  to  it  in  one  reading, 
Coiidkt,    I  concluded  to  make  a  resume  of  the  whole  subject. 
May  6,  '  Though  I  devoted  all  the  readings  to  this  topic  last 
^^^^"       summer,  yet  it  loomed  up  wonderfully  in  this  resume. 
Last  week  tlie  subject  was  "the  precious  blood  of  Christ,"  anc 
in  studying  up  the  word  "  precious  "  I  lighted  on  these  lovely 
verses,  Deut.  xxxiii.  13-16.     Since  I  began  to  shcdy  the  Bible,  it 
often   seems  like  a  new  book.     And  that  passage  thrilled  the 
ladies,  as  a  novelty.     I  am  to  have  but  one  more  reading.     The 
last  sermon  I  heard  was  on  lying.    That  is  not  one  of  my  beset- 
ting sins,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  I  push  the  truth  too  far,  hag- 
gling about  evils  better  let  alone.    A.  has  just  finished  a  splendid 
placque  to  order  ;  a  Japanese  figure,  with  exquisite  foliage  in 
black  and   grey  as  background.     I  have  a  widow  lady  every 
Saturday  to  paint  with  me  ;  she  has  a  large  family,  limited 
means,  and  delicate  health  ;  and  I  want  to  aid  her  all  I  can. 
She  enjoys  these  afternoons  so  much,  and  is  doing  so  well. 

The  lady  herself  thus  recalls  these  afternoons  : 

How  deady  I  should  love  to  add  but  one  little  flower  to  her  wreath  of 
immortelles  !  I  cherish  memories  of  her  as  among  the  pleasantest  of  my 
life.  I  recall  her  room  so  bright  and  cheery,  just  like  herself,  and  all  the 
incidents  of  those  Saturday  afternoons.  When  she  first  asked  me  to  paint 
with  her,  I  thought  it  very  kind,  but  with  her  multiplicity  of  cares,  felt  it 

1  Mrs.  Antoinette  Donaghe  died  at  Staunton,  Va.,  April  14,  1882.  Her  last  years  were 
passed  amid  great  bodily  sufferings,  which  she  bore  with  the  patience  of  a  saint.  She 
\fas  a  woman  of  uncommon  excellence,  a  true  Christian  lady,  and  much  endeared  to  & 
wide  circle  of  friends  in  New  Haven,  New  York,  and  elsewliere.  Her  husband,  Mr. 
James  Donaghe,  a  most  worthy  man,  for  many  years  a  prominent  citizen  of  New  Ilavcn, 
died  on  the  ist  of  January,  187S.  He  and  Mrs.  Donaghe  were  among  the  original  mem- 
bcrs  of  the  Church  of  the  Covenant. 


FOREVER    WITH   THE    LORD.  495 

must  be  burdensome  to  her,  and  that  possibly  she  would  even  forget  the 
invitation,  and  so  I  hesitated  about  gomg.  But  when  the  week  came 
round  ever>'thing  was  made  ready  to  give  me  a  cordial  welcome.  Again 
and  again  I  found  my  chair,  palette  and  other  materials  waiting  for  me, 
while  she  sat  in  her  little  nook,  busy  as  a  bee  over  some  painting  of  her 
own. 

One  day,  passing  about  the  room,  I  saw  on  her  book-shelves,  arranged 
with  order  and  precision,  nine  little  butter  plates  in  the  form  of  pansies,  I 
uttered  an  exclamation  of  delight,  and  she  from  her  corner,  with  the  art- 
lessness  of  a  child,  said,  "  \  put  them  there  for  you  to  see."  Another  time 
she  sprang  up  with  her  quick,  light  step,  and  ran  to  the  yard  to  fetch  a 
flower  for  me  to  copy,  apparently  thoughtless  of  two  flights  of  stairs  to 
tax  her  strength.  Sometimes  she  would  read  to  me  verses  of  poetry  that 
pleased  her.  Once  I  remember  her  throwing  herself  at  my  feet,  and  when 
I  stopped  to  listen  to  the  reading,  she  said,  "Oh,  go  right  on  with  your 
painting."  Now  she  would  relate  some  amusing  anecdote  that  almost  con- 
vulsed me  with  laughter,  and  then  again  speak  of  some  serious  theme  with 
such  earnestness  of  feeling  !  She  was  eager  to  give  of  her  store  of  strength 
and  cheer  to  others,  but  the  store  seemed  inexhaustible.  The  n.ore  she 
gave,  the  more  one  felt  that  there  was  enough  and  to  spare.  1  looked  for- 
ward to  my  little  weekly  visit  as  to  an  oasis  in  the  desert ;  not  that  all  else 
was  bleak,  but  that  spot  seemed  to  me  so  very  refreshing  and  attractive. 

Little  did  I  think,  when  she  loaded  me  down  that  last  day  with  all  I 
could  carry,  then  ran  down  to  the  parlor  to  show  me  some  choice  articles 
there  which  she  knew  would  give  me  pleasure — little  did  I  think  that  I 
should  see  her  again  no  more  !  Not  a  day  passed  after  leaving  her  that 
she  was  not  an  inspiration  to  me.  While  pamting  a  wayside  flower  I 
would  think,  "  Mrs.  Prentiss  would  like  this  "—or,  ••  In  the  fall  I  must  show 
that  to  Mrs.  Prentiss."  Even  in  my  dreams  she  was  present  with  me,  and 
one  morning,  only  a  little  while  before  she  passed  from  us,  I  waked  with  a 
heavy  burden  upon  my  spirits— for  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  she  were  gone. 
The  impression  was  so  strong  that  I  spoke  of  it  at  the  time,  and  for  days 
could  not  throw  it  off.  But  at  last,  saying  to  myself,  "  Oh,  it  is  only  a 
dream,"  I  answered  her  little  note,  making,  of  course,  no  reference  to 
my  strange  feelings  in  regard  to  her.  Her  letter,  by  a  singular  mistake,  is 
dated  "  Kauinfels,  October  lo,  1878."  nearly  two  months  after  she  had 
fallen  asleep.  How  just  like  her  is  this  passage  in  it :  "I  wish  you  could 
leave  your  little  flock,  and  take  some  rest  with  us.  It  would  do  you 
good,  I  am  sure.  Is  it  impossible?  you  do  look  so  tiled."  My  letter 
in  reply  must  have  been  one  of  the  very  last  received  by  her.  In  it 
I  spoke  of  having  just  re-read  Stepping  Heavenward  and  Aunt  Jane's 
Hero,  and  of  having  enjoyed  them  almost  as  much  as  at  the  first.  This 
was,  perhaps,  one  reason  why  she  had  been  so  constantly  in  my  thoughts 
When  the  news  came  that  she  had  left  us,  I  was  at  first  grea*ly  shocked 


49^  THE   LIFE    OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

and  grieved— for  I  felt  that  I  had  lost  no  ordinary  friend— but  when  I  con*, 
sidered  how  complete  her  life  had  been  in  all  that  makes  life  noble  and 
beautiful,  and  how  meet  it  was  that,  having  borne  the  burden  and  heat  o, 
the  day,  she  should  now  rest  from  her  labors,  it  seemed  selfish  to  give  way 
to  sorrow  and  not  rather  to  rejoice  that  she  had  gone  to  be  with  Chi  lit. 

Scores  of  such  grateful  testimonies  as  this  might  be  given. 
To  all  who  knew  and  loved  her  well,  Mrs.  Prentiss  was 
"  an  inspiration."  They  dehghted  to  talk  about  her  to  each 
other  and  even  to  strangers.  They  repeated  her  bright  and 
pithy  sayings.  They  associated  her  with  favorite  characters 
in  the  books  they  read.  The  very  thought  of  her  wrought 
upon  them  with  gracious  and  cheering  influence.  An  extract 
from  a  letter  of  one  of  her  old  and  dearest  friends,  written  to 
her  husband  after  her  death,  will  illustrate  this : 

On  the  very  morning  of  her  departure  I  had  been  conversing  with  my 
physician  about  her.  He  spoke  in  admiration  of  her  published  works,  and 
I  tried  to  give  him  a  description  of  her  personal  characteristics.  The  night 
before,  in  my  hours  of  sleeplessness,  I  recounted  the  names  of  friends  .vho 
I  thought  had  been  most  instrumental  in  moulding  my  charactrr,  and 
Mrs.  Prentiss  led  the  list.  How  little  did  I  dream  that  already  her  feet  had 
safely  touched  "  the  shining  shore  "  !  In  all  the  three  and  thirty  years  of 
our  acquaintance  I  loved  her  dearly  and  reverenced  her  most  deeply ; 
but  between  us  there  was  such  a  gulf  that  I  always  felt  unworthy  to  touch 
even  the  hem  of  her  garment.  Whenever  I  did  touch  it,  strength  and  com- 
fort were  imparted  to  me.  How  much  I  was  indebted  to  her  most  tender 
sympathy  and  her  prayers  in  my  own  great  sorrow,  only  another  world  will 
reveal.  Is  it  not  a  little  remarkable  that  her  last  letter  to  me,  written  only 
a  few  weeks  before  her  death,  closed  with  a  benediction  }  I  could  go  on 
talking  about  her  without  end ;  for  I  have  often  said  that  there  was  more 
of  her,  and  to  her,  and  in  her,  than  belonged  to  any  five  women  I  ever 
knew.  How  exceedingly  lovely  she  was  in  her  own  home  !  1  remember 
you  once  said  to  me,  "The  greatest  charm  of  my  wife  is,  after  all,  her  per- 
fect naturalness."  All  who  knew  her,  must  have  recognised  the  same  win- 
ning characteristic.  She  was  always  fresh  and  always  nev.-— for  she  had 
•'  the  well-spring  of  wisdom  as  a  flowing  brook."  ....  Were  you  not 
5t)  uck,  in  reading  Thomas  Erskine's  letters  on  the  death  of  Madame  de 
Bi  oghe,  by  the  wonderful  likeness  between  her  and  dear  Mrs.  Prentiss  ? 
Twin  sisters  could  scarcely  have  resembled  each  other  more  perfectl)-.  Such 
passages  as  the  following  quite  startled  me  : 

Her  friendship  has  been  to  me  a  gjeat  gift.     She  has  been  a  witness  to  me  for  God,  a 
voice  crying:  in  the  wilderness.     She  has  been  a  warner  and  a  comforter.     I  have  seen 


FORF.VER    WITH    THE    LORD.  497 

her  continually  thirsting  after  a  spiritual  union  with  God.  I  have  heard  the  voice  of  her 
heart  crying  after  God  out  from  the  midst  of  all  things  which  make  this  life  plca-^ant  and 
satisfying She  had  all  the  gifts  of  mind  and  character— intelligence,  imagina- 
tion, nobleness,  and  thoughts  that  wandered  through  eternity.  She  had  a  heart  fitted 
for  friendship,  and  she  had  friends  who  could  appreciate  her ;  but  God  sulTcred  her  not 
to  find  rest  in  these  things,  her  ear  was  open  to  His  own  paternal  voice,  and  she  became 
His  child,  in  the  way  that  the  world  is  not  and  knoweth  not.  I  see  her  before  me,  her 
loving  spirit  uttering  itself  through  eveiy  feature  of  her  beautiful  and  animated  coun- 
tenance  There  was  an  unspeakable  charm  about  Iier.     She  had  a  truth  and  ciro- 

plicity  of  character,  which  one  rarely  finds  even  in  the  highest  order  of  men.  I  know 
nobody  like  her  now.  I  hope  to  pass  eternity  with  her.  It  is  wonderful  to  think  what  a 
place  she  has  occupied  in  my  life  since  I  became  acquainted  with  her. 

You  know  it  is  my  belief  tliat  we  become  better  acquainted  with  our 
friends  after  ihey  have  passed  on  "within  the  veil."  And  may  it  not  be 
that  they  become  better  acquainted  with  us,  too,  loving  us  more  perfectly 
and  IbrL^iving  all  that  has  been  amiss  ?  ' 

This  is  your  father's  birthday,  and  I  have  given  him,  to  his 

great  delight,  a  Fairbanks  postal  scale.     Ilis  twenty- 

7o/ier     years-old  one  would  not  weieh  newspapers  or  books, 

eldest  son,    ^  .  "  -  r\       -r\ 

New  York,  and  it  is  time  for  an  improvement  on  it.  Un  1  nurs- 
^'^I's-s!^'  day  evening  there  was  a  festival  at  our  church  in  aid 
of  sick  mission  children.  Everybody  was  there  with 
their  children,  and  it  was  the  nicest  affair  we  ever  had.  M. 
and  I  went  and  enjoyed  it  ever  so  much.  I  took  between  four 
ana  five  dollars  to  spend,  though  I  had  given  between  twenty 
and  thirty  to  the  mission,  but  did  not  get  a  chance  to  spend 
much,  as  Mr.  M.  took  me  in  charge  and  paid  for  everything  I  ate. 
Your  father  and  I  rather  expect  to  go  to  East  River,  Conn.,  to- 
morrow to  help  Mrs.  Washburn  celebrate  her  seventieth  birth- 
day ;  but  the  weather  is  so  cold  he  doubts  whether  I  had  better 
go.  A.  went  on  a  long  drive  on  Friday  and  brought  back  a 
host  of  wild  flowers,  which  I  tried  with  some  failure  and  some 
success  to  paint. 

May  \c)th. — We  went  to  East  River  on  Monday  afternoon 
and  came  home  on  Thursday,  making  a  delightful  visit.  On 
Tuesday  Mrs.  W.  and  I  went  to  Norwich  to  sec  the  Gilmans. 
1  was  very  tired  when  we  got  back,  and  had  to  go  to  bed  at 

1  The  book  alluded  to  is  Letters  of  Thomas  Erskine  of  Linlathen.  From  iSoo  till 
1840.  Edited  by  Dr.  Ilanna,  and  republished  by  C',.  P.  Putnam's  Sons.  The  Duchess 
de  Bro^lie  was  bom  in  Paris,  in  1797,  and  died  in  September,  iS.-;S,  at  the  age  of  forty- 
one.  She  was  th-i  only  daughter  of  the  celebrated  Madame  dc  Stacl.  Some  pleasant 
glimpses  of  her  are  given  in  tlie  Lite,  Letters,  and  Journals  of  Georjje  Ticknor.  VoL  1., 
l>p.  i-«>-i39.  Vol.  11.,  pp.  ioj-13'j. 
32 


498  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.   PRENTISS. 

half-past  seven.  The  next  day  it  rained  ;  so  Mrs.  W.  and  I  feh 
to  painting.  She  became  so  interested  in  learning  Mrs.  Fisher's 
system  that  she  got  up  at  five  the  next  morning  and  worked 
two  hours.  In  the  evening  your  father  gave  his  lecture  at  a 
little  club-room,  got  up  chiefly  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Washburn  at 
their  own  expense.  It  is  just  such  a  room  as  I  should  like  to 
build  at  Dorset.  On  Thursday  morning  Mrs.  W.  took  me  cut 
to  drive  through  their  own  woods  and  dug  up  some  wild  flow- 
ers for  me.  A.  has  a  Miss  Crocker,  an  artistic  friend  from 
Portland,  staying  with  her — a  very  nice,  plucky  girl.  She 
wants  me  to  let  her  take  my  portrait'  H.  is  full  of  a  story  of 
a  pious  dog,  who  was  only  fond  of  people  who  prayed,  went  to 
church  regularly,  and,  when  not  prevented,  to  all  the  neighbor- 
hood prayer-meetings,  which  were  changed  every  week  from 
house  to  house  ;  his  only  knowledge  of  where  they  would  be 
held  being  from  Sunday  notices  from  the  pulpit  !  I  believe 
this  the  more  readily  because  of  Pharaoh's  always  going  to  my 
Bible-reading  at  Dorset  and  never  barking  there,  whereas  if  I 
went  to  the  same  house  to  call  he  barked  dreadfully. 

We  are  constantly  wondering  what  you  boys  will  be.  Good 
men,  I  hope,  at  any  rate.  Good-night,  with  a  kiss  from  your 
affectionate  mother. 

The  substance  of  the  following  letter  of  Mrs.  Washburn, 
giving  an  account  of  the  visit  to  East  River,  as  also  her  im- 
pressions of  Mrs.  Prentiss,  was  written  in  response  to  one  re- 
ceived by  her  from  an  old  friend  in  Turk's  Island:' 

I  am  most  thankful  that  we  had  that  last  visit  from  dear  Mrs.  Prentiss. 
It  was  a  rare  favor  to  us  that  she  came.  Her  health  was  very  delicate,  and 
a  slight  deviation  from  the  regular  routine  of  home  life  was  apt  to  give  her 
sleepless  nights.  Dr.  P.  had  sent  us  word  that  he  was  going  to  be  in  New 
Haven,  and  would  give  us  a  call  before  returning  to  New  York.  We  were 
overjoyed  at  the  prospect  of  seeing  him,  and  wrote  immediately  begging 
Mrs.  Prentiss  to  come  with  him.     She,  ever  ready  to  sacrifice  her  own  ease 

'  The  portrait  in  this  volume  is  from  a  drawing  by  Miss  Crocker,  engraved  by  A.  H. 
Ritchie.  Miss  C,  after  pursuing  her  studies  for  some  time  in  Paris,  has  opened  a  studio 
in  New  York. 

8  In  this  letter  she  told  me  how  much  good  Stepping  Heavenward  had  done  her  and 
how  sorr>'  she  felt  on  heaiing  of  Mrs.  P.'s  death,  that  she  had  never  written,  as  she 
longed  to  do,  to  tha7tk  her  for  it.  "  Dear  soul !  (she  added)  perhaps  she  knows  now  how 
many  hearts  she  has  lifted  up  and  comforted  by  her  vvouderful  words." — From  a  letter 
tff  Mrs.  W. 


FORKVKR    WITH   THE    LORD.  499 

for  the  sake  of  giving  pleasure  to  others,  and  knowing  that  the  15th  of  Ma} 
would  be  my  70th  anniversary,  and  that  I  perfectly  longed  to  see  her,  took 
the  risk  of  personal  suffering  upon  herself  to  satisfy  my  earnest  desire,  and 
came.  They  arrived  on  the  13th  in  the  late  allernoon  train.  She  was  so 
bright  and  cheerful  it  was  dithcult  to  notice  any  traces  of  the  \venrines3 
which  she  must  have  felt. 

We  passed  a  delightful  evening,  and  as  Dr.  P.  was  to  spend  a  part  of 
the  next  day  in  New  Haven,  we  formed  a  plan  for  Mrs.  Prentiss  and  me  to 
go  to  Norwich  at  the  same  time  and  make  a  brief  visit  to  our  mutual 
friends,  the  Misses  Oilman.  Mr.  Washburn  telegraphed  to  them  that  we 
were  coming.  On  arriving  at  New  London  we  found,  to  our  dismay,  that 
we  had  been  misinformed  in  regard  to  the  trains,  and  that  the  one  we 
had  taken  did  not  connect  with  the  one  to  Norwich,  which  had  been 
gone  two  hours.  So  there  we  were,  left  alone  on  the  platform,  strangers  in 
the  place,  with  no  means  of  either  going  on  or  returning.  What  should  we 
do  ?  Our  first  thought  was  to  procure,  if  possible,  some  conveyance  to  take 
us  to  Norwich  and  back  ;  but  this  we  found  could  not  be  done,  for  want  of 
time,  the  distance  between  the  two  cities  being  fourteen  miles  or  more. 
Fortunately  for  us,  a  young  lad  appeared,  who  promised  to  take  us  to  our 
friends  in  Norwich,  allow  us  half  an  hour  to  spend  with  them,  and  drive  to 
the  station  there  in  time  for  the  return  train  to  New  London  and  East 
River.  He  looked  so  honest  and  true  that  we  felt  we  could  trust  him,  and 
we  acceded  to  his  terms  at  once.  As  soon  as  he  could  get  his  carriage 
ready  we  started  off  on  our  untried  way. 

It  began  at  the  foot  of  a  long  hill,  and  continued  up  and  down  (iver  a 
succession  of  the  same  kind,  with  very  rare  exceptions  of  a  level  space  be- 
tween them,  through  the  whole  distance.  But  the  scenery  was  so  varied 
and  beautiful,  we  thought  if  our  only  object  in  setting  out  had  been  a  drive, 
we  could  not  have  chosen  one  more  charming.  The  weather  was  fine,  and 
dear  Mrs.  Prentiss  in  her  happiest  mood.  As  for  mc,  noihing  marred  my 
enjoyment  but  fear  that  the  fatigue  would  be  too  much  for  her,  and  nn 
undercurrent  of  anxiety  lest  by  some  mishap  we  should  fail  to  rc-arrivc  at 
the  home-station  in  time  to  meet  our  husbands  who  would  be  waiting  for 
us.  But  if  she  had  any  such  misgivings  nolliin^  in  word  or  manner  be- 
trayed it.  So  entire  was  her  self-control,  and  so  delicate  her  tact,  not  to 
throw  the  faintest  shadow  across  the  wisdom  of  my  precipitate  arrange- 
ments.    She  was  as  happy  as  a  bird  all  the  way,  and  talked  delightfully. 

We  found  our  friends  had  been  in  a  state  of  great  excitement  on  our  ac- 
count, having  received  the  telegram,  and  knowing  that  we  had  taken  the 
wrong  train  ;  so  that  our  unexpected  arrival  was  greeted  with  even  more 
than  their  usual  cordiality;  and  they  were  specially  gratified  to  see  Mrs. 
Prentiss,  who  almost  without  looking,  discovered  a  hundred  beauties  in  and 
around  their  lovely  home,  which  it  would  have  taken  the  eyes  of  an  ordi- 
nai-y  guest  a  week  to  notice.     The  very  shortness  of  our  time  to  slay,  inten- 


500  THE    LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

sified  oiir  enjoyment  \vliilc  it  lasted.  Our  half  hour  was  soon  over,  and  we 
came  away  with  our  hands  full  of  flowers  and  our  hearts  as  full  of  love. 

We  arrived  in  good  time  and  met  our  husbands  waiting  for  us  at  the 
station.  Dear  Mrs.  Prentiss  did  not  appear  to  be  very  much  fatigued  while 
recounting  in  her  inimitably  i^leasant  manner  the  various  experiences  of  the 
day.  A  restful  night  prepared  her  for  the  quiet  enjoyments  of  the  next  day, 
which  we  spent  mostly  at  home,  merely  making  short  calls  in  the.  morning 
on  my  two  sisters,  and  slowly  driving,  or  rather,  as  I  call  it,  "taking  a 
walk  in  the  buggy%"  through  the  woods,  stopping  every  few  minutes  to  look 
at,  or  gather  ferns  or  mosses  or  budding  wild  flowers  that  could  not  escape 
her  beauty-loving  eye.  The  afternoon  we  remained  in  the  house,  occupied 
with  our  pencils.  She  painted  a  spray  of  trailing  arbutus,  talking  while  she 
was  doing  it,  as  nobody  else  could,  about  things  beloved  and  fair.  Our 
darling  Julia  was  with  us,  completely  charmed  with  her,  and  as  busy  as  we, 
trying  with  her  little  hands  to  make  pictures  as  pretty  as  ours. 

In  the  evening  Dr.  P.  gave  his  most  interesting  lecture  on  "  Recollections 
of  Hurstmonceaux  "  in  our  reading-room  ;  but  Mrs.  Prentiss  w^as  not  able 
to  go,  which  I  regretted  the  more  because  I  knew  many  ladies  would  be 
there  who  came  almost  as  much  to  see  her  as  to  hear  him.  They  were 
greatly  disappointed,  but  enjoyed  every  word  of  the  lecture,  as  well  they 
might.  The  next  day  was  all  too  short.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I  could  not 
let  them  go.  But  she  had  more  than  enough  for  her  ever  busy  hands  and 
mind  and  heart  to  do  in  preparation  for  going  to  her  summer  home,  and  we 
had  to  say  good-bye. 

A  few  short,  characteristic,  loving  notes  came  from  the  city,  before  she 
left,  and  I  did  not  hear  from  her  at  Dorset  till  the  overwhelming  news  came 
of  her  death.  I  could  not  control  my  grief.  Little  Julia  tried  to  comfort 
me  with  her  sweet  sympathy.  "  Dear  grandma,"  she  said,  "  I  am  sorry  too. 
I  can  not  feel  so  bad  as  you  do,  because  you  loved  her  so  much,  and  you 
loved  her  so  long ;  but  /  loved  her  too,  and  I  can  think  just  how  she  looked 
when  she  sat  right  there  by  that  little  table  talking,  and  painting  those 
beautiful  flowers.  Oh  !  1  am  very  sorry."  And  here  the  poor  child's  tears 
flowed  again  with  mine.  So  will  all  the  children  who  knew  her  say,  "  We 
remember  just  how  she  looked."  Yes,  there  was  no  mistaking  or  forgetting 
that  kindly,  loving  "  look."  Julia's  mother  had  felt  its  influence  from  her 
own  early  childhood  till  she  left  her  precious  little  one  to  receive  it  in  her 
stead.  To  each  of  these  half-orphaned  ones  in  turn,  I  had  to  read  "  Little 
Susy's  Six  Birthdays,"  and  both  always  said  to  me  when  I  finished,  "  Please 
read  it  again." 

She  could  read  and  understand  the  heart  of  children  through  and 
through,  as  indeed  she  could  everybody's.  And  that  was,  perhaps,  her 
chiefest  charm  ;  a  keen  eye  to  see  and  a  true  heart  to  sympathise  and  love. 
She  was  absolutely  sincere,  and  no  one  could  help  feeling  that  she  was  so. 
We  felt  ourselves  fairly  imaged  when  standing  before  her,  as  in  a  cleai 


FOREVER   WITH   THE    LORD.  5OI 

plate-glass  mirror.  There  were  no  distorted  lines  caused  by  her  own  im« 
perfections ;  for  although  she  considered  herself  "  compassed  with  infirmity, 
no  one  else  could  take  such  a  view  of  her,  but  only  saw  the  abundant  charity 
uhich  could  cover  and  forgive  a  multitude  of  failings  in  others.  We  fdt 
that  if  there  was  any  good  in  us,  she  knew  it,  and  even  when  she  saw  them 
"with  all  our  faults  she  loved  us  still,"  and  loved  to  do  us  good. 

You  would  like  me  to  tell  you  "  how  she  looked."  Vuu  can  form 
some  idea  from  her  picture,  but  not  an  adequate  one.  Her  face  dt^fied 
both  the  photographer's  and  the  painter's  art.  The  cra^'on  likeness,  taken 
shortly  before  her  death  by  Miss  Crocker,  a  young  artist  from  Maine, 
is,  in  some  respects,  excellent.  The  eyes  and  mouth — not  to  speak  ol 
other  features — are  very  happily  reproduced.  She  was  of  medium  height, 
yet  stood  and  walked  so  erect  as  to  appear  taller  than  she  really  was. 
Her  dress,  always  tasteful,  with  little  or  no  ornament  that  one  could 
remember,  was  ever  suited  to  the  time  and  place,  and  seemed  the  most  be- 
coming to  her  which  could  have  been  chosen.  She  was  perfectly  natural, 
and,  though  shy  and  reserved  among  strangers,  had  a  quii-t,  easy  grace  of 
manner,  that  showed  at  once  deference  for  them  and  utter  unconsciousness 
of  self.  Her  head  was  very  fine  and  admirably  poised.  She  had  a  sym- 
metrical figure,  and  her  step  to  the  last  was  as  light  and  elastic  as  a  girl's. 

When  I  first  knew  her,  in  the  flush  and  bloom  of  young  maternity,  her  face 
scarcely  differed  in  its  curving  outlines  from  what  it  was  more  than  a  quar- 
ter of  a  century  later,  when  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  full-orbed  womanhood 
had  stamped  upon  it  indelible  marks  of  the  perfection  they  had  wrought. 
Her  hair  was  then  a  dark-brown  ;  her  forehead  smooth  and  fair,  her  gen- 
eral complexion  rich  without  much  depth  of  color  except  upon  the  lips.  In 
silvering  her  clustering  locks  time  only  added  to  her  aspect  a  graver 
charm,  and  harmonised  the  still  more  delicate  tints  of  cheek  and  brow. 
Her  eyes  were  black,  and  at  times  wonderfully  bright  and  full  of  spiritual 
power;  but  they  were  shaded  by  deep,  smooth  lids  which  gave  them  when 
at  rest  a  most  dove-like  serenity.  Her  other  features  were  equally  striking; 
the  lips  and  chin  exquisitely  moulded  and  marked  by  great  strength  as  well 
as  beauty.  Her  fare,  in  repose,  wore  the  habitual  expression  of  deep 
thought  and  a  soft  carncslness,  like  a  thin  veil  of  sadness,  which  I  never 
saw  in  the  same  degree  in  any  other.  Yet  when  animated  by  interchange 
of  thought  and  feeling  with  congenial  minds,  it  lighted  up  with  a  pcrft»ct 
radiance  of  love  and  intelligence,  and  a  most  beaming  smile  that  no  pen  or 
pencil  can  describe — least  of  all  in  my  hand,  which  trembles  when  I  try  to 
sketch  the  faintest  outline. 

Hundreds  of  heart-stirring  memories  crowd  upon  me  as  I  write,  but  it 
is  impossible  to  give  them  expression.  Her  books  give  you  the  truest  Iran- 
sciipl  of  herself.  She  wrote,  as  she  talked,  from  the  heart.  To  those  who 
knew  her,  a  written  page  in  almost  any  one  of  them  recalls  her  image  with 
the  vividness  ol  a  portrait ;  and  they  can  almost  hear  her  musical  voice  as 
they  read  it  themselves.     But,  alas  !  in  reality— 


S02  TFIE    LIFE    OF   MRS.  PRENTISS. 

No  more  her  low  sweet  accents  can  we  hear 
No  more  our  plaints  can  reach  her  patient  ear. 
O  !  loved  and  lost,  oh  !  trusted,  tried,  and  true, 

0  !  tender,  pitying  eyes  forever  sealed  ; 
How  can  we  bear  to  speaic  our  last  adieu  ? 
How  to  the  grave  the  precious  casket  yield, 
And  to  those  old  familiar  places  go 
That  knew  thee  once,  and  never  more  shall  knaw  ? 

1  hear  from  heaven  a  voice  angelic  cry, 
"  Blessed,  thrice  blessed  are  the  dead  who  lie 
Beneath  the  flowery  sod  and  graven  stone." 
"  Yea,"  saith  the  answering  Spirit,  "  for  they  rest 
Forever  from  the  labors  they  have  done. 
Their  works  do  follow  them  to  regions  blest ; 
No  stain  hereafter  can  their  lustre  dim  ; 
The  dead  in  Christ  from  henceforth  live  in  Him." 

O  !  doubly  dear  transfigured  friend  on  high, 
We,  through  our  tears,  behold  thine  eyelids  dry. 
By  Him  who  suffered  once,  and  once  was  dead, 
But  liveth  evermore  through  endless  days, 
God  hath  encircled  thy  redeemed  head 
With  rays  of  glor}'  and  eternal  praise, 
And  with  His  own  kind  hand  wiped  every  trace 
Of  tears,  and  pain  and  sorrow  from  thy  face. 

WiLDWOOD,  March  7,  1880. 

One  of  the  notes  referred  to  is  as  follows : 

Dear  Mrs.  Washburn  : — If  you  judge  by  my  handwriting, 
you  will  have  to  conclude  that  I  am  100  years  old.  But  it  all 
comes  of  my  carrying  a  heavy  bag  too  long,  and  is  all  my  own 
fault  for  trying  to  do  too  many  errands  in  one  trip.  Your  dear 
little  chair,  the  like  of  which  I  should  love  to  give  to  540  peo- 
ple, only  cost  $2.50,  so  I  enclose  my  check  for  the  rest  of  your 
$10.  We  sent  off  Mrs.  Badger's  parcel  early  this  morning.  I 
hope  digging  and  driving  and  packing  and  climbing  in  my  be- 
half, has  not  quite  killed  you.  A  lot  of  flowers  in  two  boxes 
came  to  me  from  Matteawan  while  I  was  gone,  and  as  my 
waitress  fancied  I  had  been  shopping — as  if  I  should  shop  at 
East  River  ! — she  did  not  open  the  boxes  or  inform  the  children, 
so  the  spectacle  of  withered  beauty  was  not  very  agreeable. 
A.  and  M.  send  love  and  thanks.  The  flowers  yoa  gave  me 
look  beautifully.  Give  our  love  to  Mr.  W.  and  Julia,  and  write 
about  her.  We  shall  not  soon  forget  our  charming  visit  to 
East  River ! 


C.  w. 


FOREVER   WITH   THE    LORD.  5^3 

In  acknowledging  this  note  Mrs.  Washburn  alhidcs  to  one 
of  Mrs.  Prentiss'  most  striking  traits— the  eager  promptitude 
with  which  she  would  execute  little  commissions  for  her 
friends.  It  was  as  if  she  had  taken  a  vow  that  there  should 
not  be  one  instant's  delay. 

I  do  hope  you  have  not  been  made  sick  by  doing  so  many  errands  in 
such  a  short  time.  The  little  chair  has  come  and  Mr.  W.  is  much  pk-ased 
with  it.  Nobody  is  so  punctual  as  you.  We  were  all  amazed  at  rece.vmg 
the  picture  so  soon.  How  could  you  possibly  have  gotten  home  and  packed 
it  and  marked  the  catalogues  and  bought  the  chair  and  written  the  check 
and  sent  me  the  little  package  of  Japanese  corn-seed  and  written  me  the 
note  and  have  had  a  moment  even  to  look  at  A.'s  portrait  }  It  is  a  mystery 
to  me  You  are  a  wonder  of  a  woman  !  You  are  a  g.nius !  You  are  a 
beloved  friend!  I  thank  you  again  and  again.  Just  think  of  the  good  you 
have  done  us.  Shall  I  send  you  some  more  daisies  ?  I  have  written  in  the 
greatest  haste.  That  is  the  reason  I  have  done  no  better  and  not  because 
I  am  seventy  years  old. 

Here  is  her  last  note  to  Mrs.  Washburn,  dated  June  3  : 
The  box  of  daisies,  clover,  and  grass  came  on  Saturday 
We  set  the  plants  out  in  the  box  in  which  they  came,  and 
mixed  the  grass  with  what  cut  lowers  we  had,  m  the  very 
prettiest  receptacle  for  flowers  I  ever  saw,  just  given  M.  The 
plants  look  this  morning  like  a  piece  of  Wildwood  and  a  piece 
of  you,  and  will  gladden  every  spring  we  live  to  see.  .  .  .  .  \\  e 
are  packing  for  Dorset,  though  we  do  not  mean  to  go  if  this 
weather  lasts.  I  wonder  if  you  have  a  "  daily  rose  ?  I  have 
just  bought  one  ;  first  heard  of  it  at  the  Centennial.  It  is  said 
to  bloom  every  day  from  May  to  December. 

I  am  going  out,  now,  to  do  ever  so  many  errands  for  H.  s 
outfit  for  college.  Give  our  dear  love  to  Mr.  Washburn  and 
Julia.     O,  what  a  mercy  it  is  to  have  somebody  to  love. 

I  Mr   Wa'.hbum  died  on  Sunday,  U.e  iSth  of  September,  iSSi.  afjed  80  years.     H. 

jMr.  waiuuru  Joseph  Wa^shburn,  paslor  of  the 

was  bom  in  rarm)nglon,  Conn.     His  father,  ti  c  Kcv.  jo    , 

Congregational  Church  in  K.,  was  cut  oil  in  the  pnme  of  a  beautiful  ^^J^^^^  >  "^" 
hood  He  inherited  son,e  of  his  father's  most  aUractive  traits  and  1^^^^^%^;^^^^^ 
.an  ndelUy  and  ^^,    In  a^noUce  ---^^  ^^^^t^lS  t^i 

^r^Mf  w  :i:^n'as;r^^  ^'-^  -^-  -t""-'' 

^dwL^^  Sor,;ve^V  years  since  he  .tired  for  a  part  of^  ^^J^^^^^^ 


504  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

On  the  6th  of  June  Mrs.  Prentiss  went  to  Dorset  for  the 
last  time.  Her  husband,  after  her  departure,  thus  referred  to 
this  period  : 

For  four  or  five  weeks  after  coming  here  she  was  very  much  occupied 
about  the  house,  and  seemed  rather  weary  and  care-worn.  But  the  pres- 
sure was  then  over  and  she  had  leisure  for  her  flowers  and  her  painting, 
for  going  to  the  woods  with  the  girls,  and  for  taking  her  favorite  drives 
with  me.  She  spoke  repeatedly  of  you  and  other  friends.  On  the  23d  ol 
July  I  started  for  Monmouth  Beach.  The  week  preceding  this  little 
journey  was  one  of  the  happiest  of  our  married  life.  No  words  can  tell 
how  sweet  and  loving  and  bright — in  a  word,  how  just  like  herself — she 
was.  The  impression  of  that  week  accompanied  me  to  the  sea-side  and 
continued  with  me  during  my  whole  stay  there.  As  day  after  day  I  sat 
looking  out  upon  the  ocean,  or  walked  alone  up  and  down  the  shore,  she 
was  still  in  all  my  thoughts.  The  noise  of  the  breakers,  the  boundless. ex- 
panse of  waters,  the  passing  ships,  going  out  and  coming  in,  recalled  simi- 
lar scenes  long  ago  on  the  coast  of  Maine,  before  and  after  our  marriage — 
scenes  with  which  her  image  was  indissolubly  blended.  Then  1  met  old 
friends  and  found  new  ones,  who  talked  to  me  with  grateful  enthusiasm  of 
"  Stepping  Heavenward,"  "  More  Love  to  Thee,  O  Christ,"  and  other  ol 
her  writings.  In  truth,  my  feelings  about  her,  while  I  was  at  Monmouth 
Beach,  were  quite  peculiar  and  excite  my  wonder  still.  I  scarcely  know 
how  to  describe  them.  They  were  at  times  very  intense,  and,  I  had  almost 
said,  awe-struck,  seemed  bathed  in  a  sweet  Sabbath  stillness,  and  to  be- 
long rather  to  the  other  world  than  to  this  of  time  and  sense.  How  do 
you  explain  this  ?  Was  my  spirit,  periiaps,  touched  in  some  mysterious 
way  by  the  coming  event  ?  Certainly,  had  I  been  warned  that  she  was  so 
soon  to  leave  me,  I  could  hardly  have  passed  those  days  of  absence  in  a 
mood  better  attuned  to  that  in  which  I  now  think  of  her  as  forever  at 
home  with  the  Lord. 

The  following  are  two  of  her  last  letters : 

To  begin  with  the  most  important  part  of  your  letter.     I 

To  Mrs     ^^P^y  ^^^^  neither  Mr.   Prentiss  or  myself  have  ever 

Condict,    had  any  sympathy  with  Second  Adventists.     All  the 

jtciy  22,    talk  about  it  seems  to  us  mere  speculation  and  prob- 

^^~'^'      able  doom  to  disappointment.     I  do  not  see  that  it  is 

as  powerful  a  stimulant  to  holiness  as  the  uncertainty  of  life  is. 

Christ  7nay  come  any  day  ;  but  He  may  not  come  for  ages  ;  but 

nent  residence.  His  life  was  singularly  even  in  its  course  and  happy  in  its  allotments  ;  a 
blessing  to  himself  and  a  blessing  to  the  world.  His  memory  will  long  be  cherished  bj 
!he  many  who  knew  him  as  one  whom  to  know  was  to  love  and  honor." 


FOREVFR   WITH   THE    LORD.  5C5 

wc  must  and  shall  die  in  the  merest  frac^mcnt  of  an  age,  and 
see  Him  as  He  is.  It  will  be  a  day  of  unspeakable  joy,  when 
we  meet  Him  here  ur  there.  I  shrink  from  unprolUable  dis- 
cussion of  points  that,  after  all,  can  only  be  tested  by  time  and 
events.  I  do  not  think  our  expecting  Christ  will  bring  Him  a 
miuMte  sooner,  for  the  early  church  expected  Him,  yet  He  came 
not.  There  has  been  so  much  wildness  in  theories  on  this  sub- 
}ect  that  I  am  sore  when  I  hear  new  ones  advanced  ;  none  of 
these  theories  have  proved  to  be  correct,  and  I  do  not  imagine 
any  of  them  will. 

I  have  been  busy  indoors,  upholstering  not  only  curtains 
and  couches,  but  ever  so  many  boxes,  as  our  bureaus  are  slial- 
low  and  our  closets  small.  I  made  one  for  A.  large  enough 
for  her  to  get  into,  and  she  uses  it  as  she  would  a  room,  sus- 
pending objects  from  the  sides  and  keeping  all  her  artistic  im- 
plements in  it.  I  began  my  Bible-reading  last  Thursday,  the 
hottest  day  we  have  had  ;  but  there  was  a  good  attendance. 
My  G.  met  with  an  accident  from  the  circular  saw  which 
alarmed  and  distressed  me  so  that  his  father  had  to  hartshorn 
and  fan  me,  while  the  girls  did  what  they  could  for  G.  till  the 
doctor  could  be  got  from  Factory  Point.  His  eyebrow  was 
cut  open  and  his  forehead  gashed,  but  all  healed  wonderfully 
and  we  have  reason  to  be  thankful  that  he  did  not  lose  an  eye 
as  he  was  so  near  doing.  At  any  time  when  you  must  have 
change,  let  me  know,  as  there  are  often  gaps  between  guests, 
and  sometimes  those  we  expected,  fail.  Mr.  Prentiss  is,  ap- 
parently, benefited  by  hot  weather,  and  is  unusually  well. 
Thanks  for  the  needles,  which  will  be  a  great  comfort.  Have 
you  painted  a  horse-shoe?  I  had  one  given  me  ;  black  ground 
and  blue  forget-me-nots,  and  hung  by  a  blue  riblxm.  I  am 
going  to  paint  one  for  M.  and  Hatty.  I  feel  as  if  I  had  left 
out  Si^ni'thing  I  wanted  to  say. 

I  am  all   alone  in  tlie  house,  this  evening,  and  as  this  gives 

me  room  at  the  table,  I  am  going  to  begin  to  answer 

c.cor^e     your  letter.     George  is  out  of  town,  and  all  the  rest, 

K^inrds,  including  the  servants,  have  gone  to  see  the  Mistletoe 


'"A'- ».     Bough.     It   is  astonishing  how  slowly  you  get  well  ; 
^  '  '      and   vet  with   such   heat  and  such  smells  as  you  have 
n    Chica<^o,   it   is   vet   more  astonishing  that  you  live  at  all.      I 


t,06  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

thought  it  dreadful  to  have  the  thermometer  stand  at  90°  in 
my  bedroom,  three  weeks  running,  and  to  sniff  a  bad  sniff  now 
and  then  from  our  pond,  when  the  water  got  low,  but  I  see  I 
was  wrong.  We  have  next  to  no  flowers  this  summer  ;  while 
flies  destroyed  the  roses,  frost  killed  other  things,  and  then  the 
three  weeks  of  burning  heat,  with  no  rain,  finished  up  others, 
Portulacca  is  our  rear-guard,  on  which  we  fall  back,  filling 
empty  spaces  with  it,  and  I  grow  more  fond  of  it  every  year. 
A  good  many  verbenas  sowed  themselves,  but  came  up  too 
late  to  be  of  any  use.  We  have  a  splendid  bed  of  pansies, 
sown  by  a  friend  here. 

I  have  not  done  much  indoors  but  renovate  the  house,  but 
that  has  been  a  great  job.  I  brought  up  a  Japanese  picture- 
book  to  use  as  a  cornice  in  my  den,  but  A.  persuaded  me  to  get 
some  wall  paper,  and  use  the  pictures  as  a  oado  for  the  dining- 
room.  The  effect  is  very  unique  and  pretty.  I  expect  George 
home  to-morrow  ;  he  has  been  spending  a  delightful  week  at 
Monmouth  Beach,  visiting  friends.  I  wish  I  could  send  you 
some  of  our  delicious  ice-cream.  We  have  it  twice  a  week, 
with  the  juices  of  what  fruit  is  going  ;  peaches  being  best.  We 
have  not  had  much  company  yet.  Last  Saturday  a  friend  of 
A.'s  came  and  goes  with  her  to  Front's  Neck  to-morrow.  We 
do  not  count  Hatty  K.  as  company,  but  as  one  of  us.  She  gets 
the  brightest  letters  from  Rob  S.,  son  of  George.  I  should 
burst  and  blow  up  if  my  boys  wrote  as  well.  They  have  tele- 
phone and  microphone  on  the  brain,  and  such  a  bawling  be- 
tween the  house  and  the  mill  you  never  heard.  It  is  nice  for 
us  when  we  want  meal,  or  to  have  a  horse  harnessed.  Have 
you  heard  of  the  chair,  with  a  fan  each  side,  that  fans  you 
twenty-five  minutes  from  just  seating  yourself  in  it.  It  must 
be  delightful,  especially  to  invalids,  and  ought  to  prolong  life 

for  them The  clock  is  striking  nine,  my  hour  for  fleeing 

to  get  ready  for  bed,  but  none  of  the  angels  have  come  home 
from  the  Mistletoe  Bough,  and  so  I  suppose  I  shall  have  !o 
make  haste  slowly  in  undressing.     Love  to  all. 

Aug.  3^. — I  am  delighted  that  you  enjoyed  the  serge  soi 
much  ;  I  knew  you  would.  I  forgot  to  answer  your  question 
about  books.  Have  you  read  "  Noblesse  Oblige  "  ?  We  admire 
it  extremely.  There  are  two  works  by  this  title  ;  one  poor.  I 
read  "  Les  Miserables  "  last  winter,  and  got  greatly  interested 


FOKLVKR    WITH    THE    LORD.  507 

in  it  ;  whether  there  is  a  good  English  translation,  1  do  not 
know.  "  That  Lass  o'  Lowrie's  "  you  have  probably  read.  I  saw 
a  Russian  novel  highly  praised  the  other  day  ;  "  Dosea,"  trans- 
lated from  the  French  by  Mary  Neal  (Sherwood)  ;  "Victor  Las- 
car" is  said  to  be  good.  I  have,  probably,  praised  "  Misunder- 
stood "  to  vou.  "Strange  Adventures  of  a  Phaeton  "  we  liked  ; 
also  "The  Maid  of  Sker"  and  "Off  the  Skelligs";  its  sequel  is 
"Fated  to  be  Free." 

Two  tongues  are  running  like  mill-clappers,  so  good-night. 


n. 

Mttle  Incidents  and  Details  of  her  last  Days  on  Earth.  I^ast  Visit  to  the  Woods.  Sud- 
den Illness.  Last  Bible-reading.  I^ast  Drive  to  Ha},'er-Pro()k.  Reminiscence  of  a 
last  Interview.     Closing  Scenes.     Death.     The  Burial. 

Her  last  days  on  earth  were  now  close  at  hand.  Such 
da)-s  have  in  themselves,  of  necessity,  no  virtue  above  other 
days ;  and  yet  a  tender  interest  clings  to  them  simply  as  the 
last.  Their  conjunction  with  death  and  the  Life  beyond  seems 
to  invest  whatsoever  comes  to  pass  in  them — even  trifles  light 
as  air — with  unwonted  significance.  Soon  after  her  itudden 
departure  her  husband  noted  down,  for  the  satisfaction  of 
absent  friends,  such  little  incidents  and  details  as  could  be  re- 
called of  her  last  ten  days  on  earth.  The  following  is  a  part 
of  this  simple  record  : 

Sunday,  Autf.  \,  1S78.— To-day  she  went  lo  the  house  of  God  for  ihc 
last  time ;  and,  as  would  have  been  her  wish,  had  she  known  il  was  for  ihe 
last  time,  heard  me  preach.  There  was  much  in  both  the  tone  and  mi  iter 
of  the  sermon,  that  made  it  seem,  afterwards,  as  if  il  had  been  written  in 
full  view  of  the  approaching  sorrow.  A  good  deal  of  the  day  at  home  was 
spent  in  getting  ready  for  her  Bible-reading  on  the  ensuing  Thursday.  At 
lour  o'clock  in  ihe  afternoon  she  and  the  girls, M.  and  H.,  usually  drove  in 
the  phaeton  over  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Reed's,  on  the  West  road,  lo  ailend  a 
r.eighboihood  prayer-meeting;  but  to-day,  on  account  of  a  ihrcalening 
tliuTuler-shower.  ihcy  did  not  go.  She  enjoyed  this  little  mceling  verf 
much. 

Monday,  Aug.  sih.— Soon  after  breakfast,  she  and  ihegirls— "  we  thiee 


508  THE  LIFE  OF  MRS.   PRENTISS. 

girls,"  as  she  used  to  say — started  off,  carrying  each  a  basket,  for  the  Cheney 
woods  in  quest  of  ferns ;  it  having  been  arranged  that  at  ten  o'clock  I 
should  come  with  the  phaeton  to  fetch  her  and  the  baskets  hone.  The 
morning,  although  warm,  was  very  pleasant  and  all  three  were  in  high 
spirits.  Before  leaving  the  house,  she  ran  up  to  her  "  den  " — so  she  called 
the  little  room  where  she  wrote  and  painted — to  get  something ;  and  on 
passing  out  of  it  through  the  chamber,  where  just  then  I  was  shaving,  she 
suddenly  stopped,  and  pointing  at  me  with  her  forefinger,  her  eye  and  face 
beojning  with  love  and  full  of  sweet  witchery,  she  exclaimed  in  a  tone  of 
pretended  anger:  "How  dare  you,  sir,  to  be  shaving  in  my  room.?"  and 
in  an  instant  she  was  gene  !  A  minute  or  two  later  I  looked  after  her  from 
the  window  and  saw  her,  with  her  two  shadows,  hurrying  towards  the 
woods.  At  the  time  appointed,  I  went  for  her.  She  awaited  me  sitting  on 
the  ground  on  the  further  side  of  the  woods,  near  the  old  sugar-house.  The 
three  baskets,  all  filled  with  beautiful  ferns,  were  placed  in  the  phaeton  and 
we  drove  home. 

The  Cheney  woods,  as  we  call  them,  form  one  of  the  attractions  of  Dor- 
set. They  are  quite  extensive,  abound  in  majestic  sugar-maples,  some  of 
which  have  been  "  tapped,"  it  is  said,  for  more  than  sixty  successive  seasons, 
and  at  one  point  in  them  is  a  water-shed  dividing  into  two  little  rivulets,  one 
of  which,  after  mingling  with  the  waters  of  the  Battenkill  and  the  Hudson, 
f.nds  its  way  at  last  into  the  Atlantic  Ocean  ;  while  the  other  reaches  the 
same  ocean  through  Pawlet  River,  Lake  Champlain  and  the  St.  Lawrence 
River.  These  woods  and  our  own,  together  with  the  mountain  and  water- 
fall and  groves  beyond  Deacon  Kellogg's,  where  she  often  met  her  old 
friend  "  Uncle  Isaac,"  ^  were  her  favorite  resorts. 

A  little  while  after  returning  home  I  found  her  in  her  little  room,  look- 
ing well  and  happy,  and  busy  with  her  brush.  The  girls,  also,  on  reaching 
the  house  found  her  there.  But  somewhat  later,  without  our  knowledge, 
she  went  out  and  worked  for  a  long  time  on  and  about  the  lawn.  There 
v»'as  a  breeze,  but  the  rays  of  the  sun  were  scorchingly  hot  and  she  doubt- 
less exerted  herself,  as  she  was  always  tempted  to  do,  beyond  her  strength. 
I  was  occupied  until  noon  at  the  mill  and  later,  in  the  field,  watching  the 
men  cradling  oats.  On  coming  in  to  dinner,  a  little  past  one,  I  was  startled 
not  to  find  her  at  the  table.  "Where  is  mamma?"  said  I  to  M.  "She  is 
not  f( cling  very  well,"  M.  answered,  "and  said  she  would  not  come  down, 
as  she  did  not  want  any  dinner."     I  ran  up-stairs,  found  her  in  her  little 

1  Mr.  Isaac  Farwell,  or  *'  Uncle  Isaac,"  as  everybody  called  him,  was  the  most  remark- 
able man  in  Dorset.  He  died  in  iS8i  in  the  i02d  year  of  his  age.  His  centennial  wai- 
cfclebiated  on  the  14th  of  July,  1879  ;  the  whole  town  joining  in  it.  He  was  full  of  inter- 
est in  life,  retained  his  mental  powers  unimpaired,  and  would  relate  incide:its  that  oc« 
curred  in  the  last  century,  as  if  they  had  just  happened.  Mrs.  Prentiss  was  fond  of  meet 
ing  him  :  and  after  her  departure  he  delighted  to  recall  his  talks  with  her  and  to  tell 
where  l.e  had  seen  her  creeping  through  fences,  laden  with  rustic  trophies,  as  she  and  hoi 
daughter  came  home  from  their  tramps  in  the  fields  and  over  the  hills. 


FOREVER  WITH   THE   LORD.  509 

room,  and  asked  her  what  was  the  matter.  She  replied  that  she  had  bcec 
troubled  with  a  little  nausea  and  felt  weak,  but  it  was  nothing  serious.  I 
went  back  to  the  table,  but  with  a  worried,  anxious  mind.  Somewhat  later 
she  lay  down  on  the  bed  and  the  prostration  became  so  great,  that  I  rubbed 
her  hands  vigorously  and  administered  hartshorn.  It  occurred  to  me  at 
once  that  she  had  barely  escaped  a  sunstroke.  After  rallying  from  this 
terrible  fit  of  exhaustion,  she  seemed  quite  like  herself  again,  and  listened 
with  much  interest  while  the  girls  read  to  her  out  of  Boswell's  Johnson. 
She  was  in  a  sweet,  gentle  mood  all  the  afternoon.  "  1  prayed  this  morn- 
ing," she  said,  "that  I  might  be  a  comfort  to-day  to  ever)'body  in  tlie 
house." 

Tuesday,  Aug,  6///.— She  passed  the  day  in  bed  ;  feeble,  but  other^vise 
seeming  still  like  herself.  In  the  course  of  the  morning  we  persuaded  her 
to  let  Margaret,  Eddy's  old  nurse,  make  her  some  milk-toast,  which  she 
enjoyed  so  much  that  she  said,  "  I  wish,  Margaret,  you  were  well  enough 
to  come  and  be  our  cook."  M.  had  taken  the  place  of  our  two  ser\'ants, 
who  were  gone  to  East  Dorset  to  a  Confirmation,  at  which  their  bishop 
was  to  be  present.  Throughout  the  day  she  was  in  a  very  tender,  gentle 
mood,  as  she  had  been  on  the  previous  afternoon.  She  was  much  exer- 
cised by  the  sudden  death  of  the  mother  of  one  of  our  scr\-ants,  the  news  of 
which  came  while  they  were  away.  Had  the  case  been  that  of  a  near  rela- 
tive, she  could  hardly  have  shown  warmer  sympathy,  or  administered  con- 
solation in  a  more  considerate  manner. 

During  the  day  there  was  more  or  less  talk  about  the  Bible-reading  and 
I  begged  her  to  give  it  up.  We  finally  agreed  that  the  girls  should  drive 
over  to  Mrs.  Reed's  and  ask  her  to  take  charge  of  it.  They  did  so  ;  but  at 
Mrs.  R.'s  suggestion  it  was  decided  not  to  give  up  the  meeting,  but  to  con- 
vert it,  if  needful,  into  a  little  service  of  prayer  and  praise.  This  arrange- 
ment seemed  to  please  her.  Although  feeling  very  weak,  she  did  not 
appear  at  all  depressed  and  was  alive  to  ever>-tiiing  that  was  goinj^  on  in 
the  room.  The  girls  having  written  to  a  friend  who  was  to  visit  us  the 
next  week,  she  asked  if  they  had  mentioned  her  illness.  They  both  icplied 
no— for  each  supposed  the  other  had  done  it.  "  Then  (said  she)  you  had 
better  add  a  postscript,  telling  her  that  I  lie  at  the  point  of  death." 

Wednesday,  Aug.  jf/i.—A  beautiful  day.  She  got  up.  put  on  a  dress- 
ing-gown, and  sat  most  of  the  day  in  the  easy-chair,  or  rather  the  sea-c\\:i\v, 
given  us  by  my  dear  friend,  Mr.  Howland.  when  we  went  to  Europe  in 
185S.  She  looked  very  lovely  and  we  all  enjoyed  sitting  and  talking  with 
her  in  her  chamber.  The  girls  arranged  her  hair  to  please  their  own  lasie, 
and  then  told  her  how  very  charming  she  was  !  She  liked  to  be  petted  by 
them;  and  they  were  never  so  ha|>py  as  in  petting  and  "fussing"  about 
her.  She  spent  an  hour  or  two  in  looking  over  a  package  of  old  Agricul- 
turists, that  had  belonged  to  her  brother-m-law,  Prof.  Hopkins,  of  Williams 
CoJlcge.  She  deliglited  in  such  reading,  and  nothing  curious  and  interest- 
ing, or  suggcbllve.  escaped  her  notice.    She  called  my  attention  to  an  article 


510  THE   LIFE   OF    MRS.    I'RENTISS. 

on  raising  tomatoes,  and  cut  it  out  for  me  ;  and  also  cut  out  many  othei 
articles  for  tier  own  use. 

Towards  night  sine  dressed  tierself  and  came  down  to  tea.  She  re- 
mained in  the  parlor,  talking  with  me  and  the  boys,  and  reading  the  paper, 
until  the  girls  returned  from  the  Wednesday  evening  meeting.  Something 
had  occurred  to  excite  their  mirth,  and  they  came  home  in  such  a  "  gale" 
that  she  playfully  rebuked  them  for  being  so  light-minded.  But  at  the 
same  time  she  couldn't  help  joining  in  their  mirth.  In  truth,  she  was  quite 
as  much  a  girl  as  either  of  them  ;  and  her  laugh  was  as  merry. 

Thursday,  Aug.  Zth. — She  seemed  to  feel  much  better  this  morning. 
Before  getting  up  we  talked  about  her  Bible-reading,  and  she  asked  me 
various  questions  concerning  the  passage  that  was  to  be  its  theme,  namely, 
John  XV.  27.  She  referred  particularly  to  our  Lord's  sayings,  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  sixteenth  chapter,  on  the  subject  of  persecution,  and  told  me 
how  very  strange  and  impressive  they  seemed  to  her,  coming,  as  they  did, 
in  the  midst  of  His  last  conversation  with  His  disciples — a  conversation  so 
full  of  divine  tenderness  and  love.  This  was  almost  the  last  of  innumerable 
and  never-to-be  forgotten  talks  which  we  had  had  together,  during  more 
than  a  third  of  a  century,  upon  passages  of  Holy  Scripture. 

After  breakfast  she  went  to  her  workshop  and  painted  six  large  tiles 
and  then  went  down  to  the  piazza  and  painted  a  chair  for  Hatty.  She  also 
assisted  the  girls  in  watering  her  flowers.  "  She  came  round  to  the  back 
stoop  Thursday  morning  (one  of  the  servants  told  me  afterwards)  and  I  said 
to  her,  *  Mis  Prentiss,  and  how  d'ye  feel.?  '  and  she  said,  '  Ellen,  I  feel  iveak, 
but  I  shall  be  all  right  when  I  get  my  strength.'  "  I  still  felt  troubled  about 
her  holding  the  Bible-reading  and  tried  to  dissuade  her  from  attempting  it. 
She  had  set  her  heart  upon  it,  however,  and  said  that  the  disappointment 
at  giving  it  up  would  be  worse  than  the  exertion  of  holding  it.  Her  prep- 
aration was  all  made  ;  the  ladies  would  be  there,  some  of  them  from  a 
distance,  expecting  to  see  her,  and  she  could  not  bear  to  lose  the  meeting. 
So  I  yielded.  We  were  expecting  Dr.  Vincent  by  the  afternoon  train  and 
I  was  to  go  to  the  station  for  him.  Just  as  I  was  seated  in  the  carriage 
and  was  about  to  start,  she  came  out  on  the  porch,  already  dressed  for  the 
Bible-reading,  and  with  an  expression  of  infmite  sweetness,  half  playful  and 
half  solemn,  pointing  at  me  with  her  finger,  said  slowly:  "  You  pray — one 
— Utile — prayer  for  ?ne."  Never  shall  I  forget  that  arch  expression — so 
loving,  so  spiritual,  and  yet  so  stamped  with  marks  of  suffering — the  peculiar 
tones  of  her  voice,  or  that  dear  little  gesture  ! 

Of  her  last  Bible-reading  the  following  brief  account  is  prepared  from 
the  recollections  kindly  furnished  me  by  several  of  the  ladies  who  were 
present : 

HER    LAST    BIBLE-READING. 

There    was    something   very    impressive    in    Mrs.    Prentiss 
Bible-readings.     She   seemed   not  unlike  lier  gifted   father  in 


FOREVER  WITH  THE  LORD.  57 1 

the  power  she  possessed  of  captivating  those  who  heard  her 
Her  manner  was  perfectly  natural,  quiet,  and  even  shy  ;  it  cvi 
dently  cost  her  considerable  effort  to  speak  in  the  presence  ol 
so  many  listeners.  She  rarely  looked  round  or  even  looked 
up  ;  but  a  sort  of  magnetic  intluencc  attracted  every  eye  to  her 
and  held  all  our  hearts  in  breathless  attention.  Her  style  was 
entirely  conversational ;  her  sentences  were  short,  clear  as  crys- 
tal, full  of  happy  turns,  and  always  fresh  and  to  the  point. 
The  tones  of  her  voice  were  peculiar  ;  I  scarcely  know  how  to 
describe  them  ;  they  had  such  a  fine,  subtle,  -iVonianly  quality, 
were  touched — especially  at  this  last  reading — with  such  ten- 
derness and  depth  of  feeling  ;  I  only  know  that  as  we  heard 
them,  it  was  almost  as  if  we  were  listening  to  the  voice  of  an 
angel  !  And  they  are,  I  am  sure,  eclioing  still  in  all  our  mem- 
ories. 

The  first  glance  at  her,  as  she  entered  the  room,  a  little  be- 
fore three  o'clock  on  the  8th  of  August,  showed  that  she  was 
not  well.  Her  eyes  were  unusually  bright,  but  the  marks  of 
recent  or  approaching  illness  were  stamped  upon  her  counte- 
nance. It  was  lighted  up,  indeed,  with  even  unwonted  animation 
and  spiritual  beauty  ;  but  it  had  also  a  pale  and  wearied  look. 
The  reading  was  usually  opened  with  a  silent  prayer  and  closed 
with  two  or  three  short  oral  prayers.  The  subject  this  after- 
noon was  the  last  verse  of  the  fifteenth  chapter  of  the  Gospel 
according  to  John  :  And  ye  also  shall  bear  witness^  because  ye  have 
been  7vith  me  from  the  be:^innim^.  Witnessing  for  Christ,  this  was 
her  theme.  She  began  by  giving  a  variety  of  Scripture  refer- 
ences illustrative  of  the  nature  and  different  forms  of  Christian 
witness-bearing.  It  was  her  custom  always  to  unfold  the  topic 
of  the  reading,  and  to  verify  her  own  views  of  it,  by  copious 
and  carefully  prepared  citati(jns  from  the  Word  of  God.  A 
Bible-reading,  as  she  conducted  it,  was  not  merely  a  study  of 
a  text,  or  passage  of  Scripture,  by  itself,  but  study  of  it  in  its 
vital  relations  to  the  whole  teaching  of  the  Bible  on  the  subject 
in  hand.  In  the  present  instance  her  references  were  all  writ- 
ten cut  and  were  so  numerous  and  so  skilfully  arranged  that 
they  must  have  cost  her  no  little  labor.  Feeling,  apparently 
too  feeble  to  read  them  herself,  she  turned  to  her  daughter 
who  sat  by  her  mother's  side,  and  re(iuested  her  to  do  it. 

After  the  references  had  been  given  and  the  pasbuges  read 


512  THE    LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

she  went  on  to  express  her  own  thoughts  on  the  subject.  And^ 
surely,  had  she  been  fully  conscious  that  this  was  the  last  op- 
portunity she  would  ever  have  of  thus  bearing  witness  for 
Christ,  her  words  could  not  have  been  more  happily  chosen. 
Would  that  they  could  be  recalled  just  as  they  issued  from  her 
ov/n  lips  !  But  it  is  not  possible  so  to  recall  them.  One  might 
as  well  try  to  reproduce  the  sunset  scene  on  the  evening  of  her 
burial.  For  even  if  the  exact  words  could  be  repeated,  who 
could  bring  back  again  her  tender,  loving  accents,  or  that 
strange  earnestness  and  "  unction  from  the  Holy  One "  with 
which  they  were  uttered  ?  Or  who  could  bring  back  again  the 
awe-struck,  responsive  emotions  that  thrilled  our  hearts  ?  The 
simplest  outline  of  this  farewell  talk  is  all  that  is  now  practica- 
ble. Had  we  known  what  was  coming,  our  memories  would, 
no  doubt,  have  been  rendered  thereby  sevenfold  more  retentive, 
and  little  that  fell  from  her  lips  would  have  been  lost. 

Her  first  point  was  the  great  variety  of  ways  in  which  we 
can  bear  witness  for  Christ.  We  can  do  it  in  private  as  well  as 
in  public  ;  and  it  is  in  the  private  spheres  and  familiar  daily 
intercourse  of  life  that  most  of  us  are  called  to  give  this  testi- 
mony, and  to  give  it  by  manifesting  in  this  intercourse  and  in 
these  retired  spheres  the  spirit  of  our  Master.  What  an  oppor- 
tunity does  the  family,  for  example,  afford  for  constant  and 
most  effective  witness-bearing  !  How  a  mother  may  honor 
Christ  in  what  she  sa3^s  to  her  children  about  Him  and  espe- 
cially by  the  manner  in  which  she  fulfils  her  every-day  home 
duties  !  How  a  wife  may  thus  testify  of  Christ  to  her  worldly 
unconverted  husband  !  And  here  she  spoke  of  one  form  of 
public  testimony  which  everybody  might  and  ought  to  give.  "  I 
can  not  (she  said)  see  all  the  faces  in  this  room,  but  there  may 
be  those  here  who  have  never  confessed  Christ  before  men  by 
uniting  with  His  visible  church.  Let  me  tell  any  such  who 
may  be  present  that  they  are  grieving  their  Saviour  by  refus- 
ing to  give  Him  this  testimony  of  their  love  and  devotion." 

In  referring  to  this  subject  she  remarked  that  young  per- 
sons, after  having  united  with  the  church,  sometimes  felt 
greatly  disheartened  and  thought  themselves  the  worst  Chris- 
tians in  the  world.  But  this  was  often  a  very  wrong  feeling. 
Their  sense  of  their  own  weakness  and  unworthiness  might 
come  from  the  Holy  Comforter  ;  and  we  should  be  very  careful 


FOREVER  WITH   THE    LORD.  513 

how  wc  treat  Him.  His  influence  is  a  very  tender,  sacred 
thing,  and,  like  the  sensitive  plant,  recoils  at  the  touch  of  a 
rude  hand.  I  have  wanted,  she  said,  to  speak  cheerful^  comfort- 
ing words  to  you  to-day.  It  was  the  particular  desire  of  my 
husband  this* morning  that  I  should  do  so.  He  thought  that 
young  Christians,  especially,  needed  much  encouragement  on 
this  point.  It  was  a  great  thing  to  lead  them  to  feci  that  they 
could  please  their  Master  and  be  witnesses  for  Him  in  quiet, 
simple  ways,  and  that,  too,  every  day  of  their  lives.  Our  Lord, 
to  be  sure,  does  not  really  need  our  services.  He  could  quite 
easily  dispense  with  them.  But  He  lets  us  work  for  Him  some- 
what as  a  mother  lets  her  little  child  do  things  for  her — not 
because  she  needs  the  child's  help,  but  because  she  loves  to  see 
the  child  trying  to  please  her.  "And  yet,  Mrs.  Prentiss  (asked 
one  of  the  ladies),  does  there  not  come  a  time  when  the  child  is 
really  of  service  to  the  mother?"  "I  thank  you  for  the  sug- 
gestion (she  replied)  ;  I  left  my  remark  incomplete.  Yes,  it  is 
true  such  a  time  does  come.  And  so,  in  a  certain  sense,  it  may 
be  said,  perhaps,  that  God  needs  the  services  of  His  childrrn. 
Dut  how  easily  He  can  dispense  with  the  best  and  most  useful 
of  them  !  One  may  seem  to  have  a  great  task  to  perform  in 
the  service  of  the  Master,  but  in  the  midst  of  it  he  is  taken 
away,  and,  while  he  is  missed,  the  work  of  God  goes  right  on. 
God  does  not  see  such  a  difference  as  we  do,  she  said,  between 
what  we  call  great  and  small  services  rendered  to  Him.  A  cup 
of  cold  water  given  in  Christ's  name,  if  that  is  all  one  can  give, 
is  just  as  acceptable  as  the  richest  offering  ;  and  so  is  a  tea- 
spoonful,  if  one  has  no  more  to  give.  Christ  loves  to  be  loved  ; 
and  the  smallest  testimony  of  real  love  is  most  pleasing  to 
Him.  And  love  shown  to  one  of  His  suffering  disciples  He 
regards  as  love  to  Himself.  So  a  little  child,  just  carrying  a 
flower  to  some  poor  invalid,  may  thus  do  Ciirist  honor  and 
become  more  endeared  to  Him.  There  is  no  one,  old  or 
young,  who  has  not  the  power  of  blessing  other  souls.  Wc 
all  have  far  more  influence,  both  for  good  and  evil,  than  we 
dream  of." 

In  the  course  of  her  talk  she  alluded  to  the  trials  of  life  and 
the  shortness  of  them  at  the  longest.  We  are  all  passing  away, 
one  after  another.  Our  intimate  friends  will  mourn  for  us  when 
we  are  gone,  but  the  world  will   move  on  just  the  same.     And 


514  THE   LIFE   OF  MRS.   PRENTISS. 

we  should  not  allow  ourselves  to  be  troubled  lest  when  our  time 
comes  we  may  be  afraid  to  die.  Dying  grace  is  not  usually 
given  until  it  is  needed.  Death  to  the  disciple  of  Jesus  is  only 
stepping  from  one  room  to  another  and  far  better  room  of  our 
Father's  house.  And  how  little  all  the  son  ows  o^  the  way  will 
seem  to  us  when  we  get  to  our  home  above  !  I  suppose  St. 
Paul,  amidst  the  bliss  of  heaven,  fairly  laughs  at  the  thought  of 
what  he  suffered  for  Christ  in  this  brief  moment  of  time.  And 
as  she  said  this,  she  gently  waved  her  hand  in  the  way  of  em- 
phasis. No  one  of  us  who  saw  it  will  soon  forget  that  little 
gesture  ! 

In  one  part  of  her  remarks  she  cautioned  us  against  hasty 
and  harsh  judgments.  We  should  cover  with  our  charity  the 
faults  and  imperfections  of  those  about  us,  as  nature  hides  with 
her  mossy  covering  the  unsightly  stone. 

She  referred  to  the  case  of  children  :  a  child  often  has  a 
sweet  disposition  until  five  or  six  years  of  age  and  then  becomes 
very  irritable  and  cross,  causing  the  parents  much  anxiety — and 
perhaps,  much  impatience.  And  yet  it  may  not  be  the  child's 
fault  at  all ;  but  only  the  effect  of  ill-health,  too  much  study  and 
confinement,  or  pure  mismanagement.  A  large  portion  of  the 
disobedience  and  wrong  temper  of  children  comes  from  im- 
proper food  or  loss  of  sleep,  or  something  of  that  sort.  And 
it  is  not  cross  fretful  children  alone  that  need  to  be  judged 
tenderly.  A  consumptive  friend  of  hers,  rendered  nervous  and 
weak  by  long  sickness,  upon  being  asked  one  morning,  as 
usual,  about  her  health,  replied  :  "  Don't  ask  me  again — I  feel 
as  if  I  could  throw  this  chair  at  you.*'  Now  I  do  not  think,  said 
Mrs,  Prentiss,  that  this  speech  was  a  sin  in  the  sight  of  God. 
He  saw  in  it  nothing  but  the  poor  invalid's  irritable  nerves. 
God  judges  us  according  to  the  thoughts  and  intentions  of  the 
heart  ;  and  we  ought,  as  far  as  possible,  to  judge  each  other  in 
the  same  way.  And  when  we  ourselves  are  the  ones  really  at 
fault,  we  ought  to  confess  it.  I  never  shall  forget  how  humili- 
ated I  felt  when  my  mother  once  came  to  me  and  asked  my 
forgiveness — but  I  loved  her  ten  times  as  much  for  it. 

Prayer  was  another  point  touched  upon  in  this  last  Bible- 
reading.  She  almost  always  had  something  fresh  and  striking 
to  say  about  prayer.  It  was  one  of  her  favorite  topics.  I  recall 
two  or  three  of  her  remarks  at  this  time.     "  Always  move  the 


FOREVER   WITH   THE   LORD.  515 

lips  in  prayer.  It  helps  to  keep  one's  thoup^hts  from  wander- 
ing." "A  mother  can  pray  with  a  sick  child  on  her  lap  more 
acceptably  than  to  leave  it  alone  in  order  to  go  and  pray  by 
herself."  "  Accustom  yourself  to  turn  all  your  wants,  cares  and 
trials  into  prayer.  If  anything  troubled  or  annoyed  my  mothei 
she  went  straight  to  the  'spare  room,'  no  matter  how  cold  the 
weather,  and  we  children  knew  it  was  to  pray.  I  shall  never 
forget  its  influence  over  me."  "When  a  question  as  to  duty 
comes  up,  I  think  we  can  soon  settle  it  in  this  way:  'Am  I 
living  near  to  Christ?  Am  I  seeking  His  guidance?  Am  I 
renouncing  self  in  what  I  undertake  to  do  for  Ilim?'  If  we 
can  say  yes  to  these  questions,  we  may  safely  go  into  any  path 
where  duty  lies."  "We  never  dread  to  hear  people  pray  who 
pray  truly  and  in  the  Spirit.  They  may  be  unlearned.  They 
may  be  intellectually  weak.  But  if  they  pray  habitually  in  the 
closet,  they  will  edify  out  of  it." 

Such  is  a  poor,  meagre  account  of  this  last  precious  Bible- 
reading.  Possibly  some  of  the  things  here  recorded  belonged 
to  previous  readings — though  Mrs.  Prentiss  occasionally  re- 
peated remarks  on  points  to  which  she  attached  special  impor- 
tance. "Some  good  (she  said)  will  come  of  these  meetings,  I 
feel  sure.  It  is  impossible  that  you  should  take  so  much  pains 
and  some  of  you  put  yourselves  to  so  much  inconvenience,  in 
order  to  come  here  and  study  together  God's  Word — and  His 
blessing  not  follow."  The  blessing  has  already  followed,  good 
measure,  pressed  down  and  running  over,  and  it  will  continue 
to  follow  in  days  to  come  ;  especially  the  blessings  of  this  last 
meeting,  when,  in  a  strain  so  sweet  and  tender — as  though  she 
had  a  new  glimpse  of  heaven  and  the  heart  of  God — our  l^c 
loved  and  now  sainted  teacher  urged  us  to  bear  witness  for 
Clirist  and  showed  us  so  plainly  how  to  do  it. 

At  the  close  of  the  meeting  she  looked  very  j)ale  and  seemed 
much  exhausted.  '*  Vou  are  ill,  Mrs.  Prentiss,"  said  one  of  the 
ladies,  distressed  by  her  appearance.  "Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  a///." 
Still,  it  seemed  a  great  pleasure  to  her  to  have  met  us  once 
more.  Nor  can  I  help  thinking  that,  even  if  she  herself  iiad  no 
presentiment  of  what  was  coming,  she  was  yet  led  of  the  S[>irit, 
the  blessed  Comforter,  to  hold  this  last  Bible-readrng.  It  was 
Itself  just  such  a  testimony  for  Ciirist  as  filly  crowned  her  coq 
secrated  and  beautiful  life. 


5l6  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

Upon  my  return  from  the  station  with  Dr.  Vincent  she  met  us  on  the 
porch,  bade  him  welcome  to  Dorset,  told  him  with  what  extraordinary  rare 
the  girls  had  made  ready  his  room,  and  appeared  in  excellent  spirits  all  the 
rest  of  the  day.  While  at  tea  she  expressed  to  Dr.  V.  our  regret  that  Dr. 
Poor  could  not  have  made  his  visit  at  the  same  time  ;  although,  to  be  sure 
they  might,  if  together,  have  "brought  the  house  down"  upon  our  heads 
by  the  explosions  of  their  mirth.  She  then  related  some  amusing  anecdotes 
of  a  queer,  crotchety  old  domestic  of  ours  in  New  Bedford  a  third  of  a 
century  ago,  and  of  her  delight  when  Dr.  Poor  (then  settled  at  Fair  Haven, 
opposite  New  Bedford)  got  married,  because  "  now,  it  v/as  to  be  hoped,  he 
would  stay  at  home  with  his  wife  and  not  be  coming  over  all  the  time  and 
drinking  up  our  tea  !  " 

On  my  asking  her  about  the  Bible-reading,  she  said  she  got  through 
with  it  very  well,  expressed  surprise  at  the  large  attendance,  and  spoke  of 
the  deep  interest  manifested.  After  tea  she  sat  with  us  in  the  parlor  for 
some  time  and  then,  kissing  M.  good-night,  omitted  Hatty  and  the  boys  (a 
most  unusual  thing),  remarking,  as  she  left  for  her  chamber,  "Well,  I'm  not 
going  to  kiss  all  this  roomful." 

Friday,  Aug.  <)tk. — A  severe  thunder-storm  had  set  in  early  last  night 
and  continued  at  short  intervals  throughout  the  day.  She  was  very  anxious 
that  Dr.  Vincent  should  enjoy  his  visit,  and  on  his  account  was  disturbed 
by  the  weather;  otherwise,  a  thunder-storm  seemed  to  exhilaiate  her,  as  is 
said  to  have  been  the  case  with  her  father.  She  spent  most  of  Friday  in 
her  "  den,"  finishing  a  little  picture  and  chatting  from  time  to  time  with 
the  girls  who  were  busy  in  the  adjoining  room.  Dr.  Vincent  and  I  sat  a 
part  of  the  forenoon  on  the  piazza  under  her  window  and  whiled  away  the 
time,  he  in  telling  and  I  in  listening  to  any  number  of  amusing  stories. 
She  called  the  attention  of  M.  and  H.  to  our  unclerical  behavior:  "Just 
hear  those  doctors  of  divinity  giggling  like  two  schoolgirls  !  "  But  nobody 
enjoyed  more  an  amusing  sto'ry,  or  told  one  with  more  zest  than  she  did 
herself. 

I  forget  whether  it  was  on  Friday,  or  an  earlier  day,  that  she  showed 
me  a  remarkable  letter  she  had  received,  during  my  absence  at  the  sea-side, 
from  London.  It  was  written  by  a  young  wife  and  mother  nearly  related 
to  two  of  the  most  honored  families  of  England,  and  sought  her  counsel 
in  reference  to  certain  questions  of  duty  that  had  grown  out  of  special 
domestic  trials.  "  Stepi)ing  Heavenward,"  the  writer  said,  had  formed 
an  era  in  her  religious  life  ;  she  had  read  it  through  from  Jiffy  to  sixty 
tinus  ;  it  had  its  place  by  the  side  of  her  Bible  ;  and  no  words  could 
express  the  good  it  had  done  her,  or  the  comfort  she  had  derived  from  its 
pages.  "  The  Home  at  Greylock  "  had  also  been  of  great  help  to  her  as  a 
vvife  and  mother;  and  she  could  not  but  hope  that  one  vvhose  books  had 
Dcen  such  a  blessing  to  her,  might  be  able  to  render  her  still  greater  and 
more  direct   aid  by  personal  counsel.     The  letter,  which  was  beautiful!) 


FORF.VER   WITH   THE   EORD.  517 

written  and  was  full  of  the  most  grateful  feelin;^s,  appealed  ver>'  stronj^ly  te 
her  sympathy.     But  it  was  never  answered. 

Saturday,  Aus^.  lol/i. — She  had  a  tolerable  ni.t^ht,  but  on  coming  down 
to  breakfast  said,  in  reply  to  Dr.  Vincent's  question,  How  she  fell }  "  I 
feel  like  bursting  out  crying."  After  prayers,  however,  when  the  plans 
for  the  day  were  arranged  and  a  drive  to  Hager  brook— a  picturesque 
mountain  glen  and  waterfall — was  made  the  order  of  the  forenoon,  sl>e  pro- 
posed to  go  with  us.  I  had  almost  feared  to  suggest  it,  and  yet  was  greatly 
relieved  to  find  that  she  felt  able  to  take  the  ride.  It  was  decided,  there- 
fore, that  she,  Hatty  K.,  Dr.  Vincent  and  I  should  form  the  party.  As  we 
drove  toward  the  village  I  noticed  that  Dr.  Wyman  was  just  stopping  at 
our  next  neighbor's.  Dr.  Hemenway,  our  old  physician,  had  removed  to  St. 
Paul's,  and  Dr.  W.  had  taken  his  place.  I  was  rejoiced  to  see  him,  both 
on  her  account  and  my  own.  1  had  not  been  well  myself  during  the  week, 
and  although  I  had  repeatedly  proposed  to  call  in  the  doctor  for  her,  she 
stoutly  refused.  So,  after  getting  a  prescription  for  myself,  1  said,  "  And 
now,  doctor,  I  want  you  to  do  something  for  my  wife,"  relating  to  him  her 
ill-turn  on  Monday.  "  Certainly  (the  doctor  replied)  she  needs  some  arsi-ni- 
cu/n,"  which  he  gave  her,  promising  to  call  and  see  us  on  the  next  Monday 
As  we  rode  on  Dr.  Vincent  suggested,  laughingly,  what  a  strange  story 
might  be  based  upon  Dr.  W.'s  prescription.  "  I  might  report,  for  example 
that  I  myself  saw  the  author  of  'Stepping  Heavenward  '  eating  arsenic  ! 
She  joined  heartily  in  the  laugh  and  during  all  the  rest  of  the  drive  con- 
versed with  great  animation.  She  related  several  anecdotes  of  her  early 
life,  talked  with  admiration  of  the  writings  and  genius  of  Mrs.  Stowe — one 
of  whose  New  England  stories  she  had  just  been  reading — and  seemed  ex- 
actly like  herself.  Upon  reaching  the  brook  in  East  Rupert  and  starling 
with  Dr.  Vincent  for  the  glen,  I  said  to  her,  "  Now  don't  walk  off  out  ol 
sight,  where  I  can't  see  you  when  we  come  back."  "Oh  )es,  I  shall,"  she 
replied  in  her  pleasant  way. 

"  After  we  were  left  alone  that  Saturday  morning  (Hatty  writes)  Mrs. 
Prentiss  gathered  quite  a  bunch  of  the  wild  agoratum.  and  then  dug  up  the 
roots  of  three  wild  clematis  vines  with  her  scissors.  She  then  called  my 
attention  to  the  thimbleberry  bushes  along  the  edge  of  the  brook,  admiring 
the  foliage  of  the  plant  and  expressing  the  determination  to  have  one  or 
more  in  her  garden  next  year." 

On  coming  down  from  the  glen  I  found  lur  sitting  on  the  ground  near 
the  brook.  Taking  her  by  the  hand  —for  she  seemed  very  tired  -  I  helped  hrr 
to  rise  and  walked  back  with  her  toward  the  carriage.  Just  before  reaching 
thi  road  she  saw  some  clusters  of  clematis  on  the  side  of  the  brook,  which 
at  her  desire  I  gathered.  It  was  the  last  senice  of  the  kind  ever  performed 
for  her,  and  I  am  so  thankful  that  no  hands  but  mine  were  privileijcd  to 
perform  it !  During  the  drive  home  she  said  almost  nothing  and  was, 
evidently,  feeling  very  much  wearied.     We  returned  by  the  West  road  and 


5l8  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

on  passing  in  at  our  gate  I  observed  that  Dr.  Wyman's  gig  was  still  in 
front  of  Miss  Kent's.  "Why,  Lizzy,  Dr.  Wyman  is  still  here,"  said  I, 
*'  Then,  I  would  like  to  see  him  now  rather  than  wait  till  Monday,"  she 
said,  to  my  surprise.  I  went  immediately  and  asked  him  to  call.  It  was,  I 
think,  between  elev'^en  and  twelve  o'clock.  He  came  very  soon  and  she  re- 
ceived him  in  the  parlor.  I  noticed  at  once  that  she  was  extremely  nervo.is 
and  agitated,  while  explaining  to  him  her  symptoms ;  and  not  being  able 
to  recall  some  point,  she  remarked  that  her  mind  had  been  much  confused 
all  the  week.  Just  then  she  rose  hastily,  excused  herself,  and  went  up  to  ht-r 
room.  "  She  is  very  ill  (said  the  doctor,  turning  to  me)  and  must  go  to 
bed  instantly."  While  he  was  preparing  her  medicines  Judge  M.  and 
family  from  New  York,  who  were  sojourning  at  Manchester,  called  ;  but 
learning  of  her  illness,  soon  left.  Later  in  the  day  I  told  her  who  hac 
called  and  how  much  Mrs.  M.  and  the  young  ladies  admired  her  flowers, 
especially  the  portulacas.  She  seemed  pleased  and  said  to  me,  "  You  had 
better,  then,  prepare  two  little  boxes  of  portulacas  and  send  them  over  tc 
Mrs.  M.  to  keep  in  her  windows  v/hile  she  stays  at  the  Equinox  House." 
A  few  days  after  her  death  I  did  so  and  received  a  touching  note  of  thanks 
from  Mrs.  M. 

As  the  doctor  directed,  she  at  once  took  to  her  bed.  For  an  hour  or 
two  her  prostration  was  extreme,  and  she  nearly  fainted.  Her  head  shook 
and  her  condition  verged  on  a  collapse.  I  rubbed  her  hands  vigorously, 
gave  her  a  restorative,  and  gradually  her  strength  returned.  In  speak- 
ing of  the  attack  she  said  the  sense  of  weakness  was  so  terrible  that  she 
would  gladly  have  died  on  the  spot.  In  the  course  of  the  afternoon,  how- 
ever, she  was  so  much  easier  that  the  girls  read  to  her  again  out  of  Bos- 
well's  Johnson  and  she  seemed  to  listen  with  all  the  old  interest.  It 
pleased  her  greatly  to  have  them  read  to  her ;  and  she  loved  to  talk  with 
them  about  the  books  read  and  especially  to  discuss  the  characters  depicted 
in  any  of  them. 

Toward  evening  George  brought  in  some  trout,  which  he  had  caught 
for  her  out  of  our  brook.  Her  appetite  was  exceedingly  poor,  but  she  was 
very  fond  of  trout  and  G.  often  caught  a  little  mess  for  her  suppc 
Our  brook  never  seemed  so  dear  to  me,  nor  did  its  rippling  music  ev(« 
sound  so  sweet,  as  when  I  did  the  same  thing,  before  he  came  home  from 
Princeton  and  took  the  privilege  out  of  my  hands.  When  he  brought  in 
the  trout,  Ellen  went  to  his  mother's  chamber  and  asked  if  they  should  not 
be  kept  for  breakfast  ?  "  No,  they  are  ver}'  nice  and  you  had  better  have 
them  for  supper."  "  Shan't  I  save  some  for  your  breakfast  }  "  asked  Ellel^ 
knowing  how  fond  she  was  of  them.  "  No,"  said  she,  "  the  doctor  says  .1 
mLi3t  Hike  nothing  but  beef-tea."  "And  d'ye  feel  better,  Mis'  Prentiss.?" 
continued  Ellen.  "  Oh  I  feel  better,  Ellen,  but  I'm  very  weak— I  shall  be 
all  right  in  a  few  days." 

After  tea  she  insisted  on  sending  for  Mrs.  Sarah  C.  Mitchell,  of  Phila 


FnRi:vi:i;  with    rin-    iorh.  519 

dclpliia,  whom  shv.  liad  hern  iinnhlr  Xn  src  on  the  prcvmifs  MfMidiy.  Mrs 
M.  was  the  last  person  out  of  the  family,  with  whom  she  conversed,  except- 
ing' the  doctors  and  nurse.' 

Sundav,  Aiij^^.  11///. —She  slept  belter  tiian  I  feared,  but  awoke  very 
feeble,  takini^  no  nourishment  except  a  little  beef-tea.  She  lay  quiet  a  part 
of  the  time  ;  but  the  quiet  inten'als  grew  shorter  and  were  followed  by 
most  distressing  attacks.  M.  and  I  sat  by  her  bed,  but  could  do  nothing 
lo  relieve  her.  My  fears  had  now  become  thorout^hly  aroused  and  I  awaited 
the  arrival  of  the  doctor  with  the  most  intense  anxiety.  Hour  after  hour 
of  the  morning-,  however,  passed  slowly  away  and  he  did  not  come.     At 

*  The  following:  is  an  extract  from  a  letter  of  Mrs.  M.  givinf;  an  account  of  the  inters 
view  : 

It  was  of  her  I  thought,  as  an  hour  before  sunset,  on  that  day,  I  passed  through  tha 
pounds  to  the  door  of  her  beautiful  home.  I  thou^jht  of  her  as  I  had  seen  her  busy  at 
work  among  her  flowers  on  tlie  morning  of  the  day  when  the  fatal  illness  L>egan,  wearing 
a  straw  hat,  with  broad  brim  to  protect  her  from  the  heat  of  the  sun.  Several  of  V.<^t 
family  were  standing  around  her,  and  the  pleasant  picture  we  saw  as  we  drove  by  the 
lovely  lawn  is  fresh  and  green  in  my  memory  now.  Once,  after  this,  I  had  seen  her,  at 
our  last  precious  Uible-reading  (though  little  thought  we  then  it  would  be  our  last),  when 
she  so  earnestly  urged  us  to  be  true  "witnesses"  for  our  Master  and  Lord  and  gently 
bade  us  God-speed,  **  gncotira^in^"  us  also,  as  she  expressed  it,  "  by  the  particular  de- 
sire of  my  husband  to-day,"  in  the  heavenward  path.  I  knew  that  she  was  not  quite  well, 
and  as  I  entered  the  house  was  invited  to  her  chamber. 

I  found  her  attired  as  usual,  but  reclining  on  the  bed,  apparently  only  for  quiet  rest.  I  ler 
greeting  was  warm,  her  eyes  bright,  she  was  very  cheerful,  and,  I  think,  was  not  then 
suffering  from  pain.  To  my  inquiries  after  her  health,  she  replied,  that  she  had  been  at 
first  prostrated  by  the  heat  of  the  sun,  remaining  at  work  in  it  too  long,  with  no  idea  of 
danger  from  the  exposure;  "but  now,"  she  said,  "I  do  not  think  much  is  the  matter 
with  me"— though  afterwards  she  added,  " The  doctor  has  said  something  lo  my  hus- 
band which  has  alarmed  him  about  me,  and  he  is  anxious  but  I  can  not  perceive  any 
reason  for  this."  \Vc  talked  of  many  familiar  things,  even  of  home-like  methods  cif 
cooker)',  and  she  kindly  sent  for  a  small  manuscript  receipt-book  of  her  own  to  lend 
me,  looking  it  over  and  turning  down  the  leaves  at  some  particular  receijits  which 
she  approved,  and  "those  were  my  motlicr's,"  slie  said  of  several.  She  .spoke  of  her 
engagements  and  the  guests  she  loved  lo  entertain,  adding  ihat  she  thought  God  had 
given  this  pleasant  home,  surrounded  by  saich  lx«autiful  things  In  nature,  tlial  oUicrs  too 
might  be  made  happy  in  enjoying  them.  All  the  time  while  listening  to  her  remarks, 
and  deeply  interested  in  every  one  she  made,  the  strong  desire  wxs  in  my  heart  to  speak 
to  her  of  her  works,  of  my  appreciation  of  their  great  usefulness,  and  how  Go<l  had 
blessed  her  in  permitting  her  to  <lo  so  much  to  Ijcnefit  others.  I  longcl  to  say  to  her, 
"  O  had  you  only  written  the  books  for  the  little  onc5,  •  Little  Susy's  Six  Hirthflays,"  and  its 
companions,  it  would  have  been  well  worth  living  for !  had  you  never  written  anything 
but  '  The  Flower  of  the  Tamlly,'  It  were  a  blessing  for  you  to  have  lived  1  And  *  Stepping 
Heavenward'— what  a  privilege  to  have  lived  to  write  only  Mj/  wlume  I"  I  Cf)uU 
^'arcely  refrain  from  pouring  out  before  her  the  thoughts  which  wanne<l  my  heart,  but  I 
had  been  told  that  she  preferred  not  to  be  spoken  lo  of  her  works,  and  I  rrfraincd.  Only 
one  e,  when  we  were  alone,  I  said,  with  some  emotion,  "  I  am  so  glad  to  have  seen  you ; 
it  was  Ijecausc  jivM  were  here  that  I  wished  to  come  to  ihi>  x-illage ;  this  wxs  the  strong 
attracuon."  ....  Thus  I  parte  I  fri>m  her.  I  sh.all  not  look  upon  her  a^ain  until  thi 
day  when  "those  who  bleep  in  JeiUi  sl)all  God  bring  with  llim." 


520  THE   LIFE   OF  MRS.   PRENTISS. 

length  a  messenger  brought  word  from  the  "West  road,"  where  he  had 
been  called  at  midnight,  that  an  urgent  telegram  had  summoned  him  tc 
Arlington  and  that  he  should  not  be  able  to  reach  Dorset  before  one  or  two 
o'clock  P.M.  The  anguish  of  the  suspense  during  the  next  three  or  four 
hours  was  something  dreadful.  When  the  bell  rang  for  church  she  desired 
that  M.  should  go,  as  Dr.  Vincent  was  to  preach,  and  it  would  give  a  little 
relief  from  the  strain  that  was  upon  her. 

Soon  after  M.  had  left,  during  an  interval  of  comparative  ease,  she  fixed 
Iier  eyes  upon  me  with  a  most  tender,  loving  expression,  and  in  a  sort  of 
beseeching  tone,  said,  "  Darling,  don't  you  thmk  you  could  ask  the  Lord  to 
let  me  go  ?  "  Perceiving,  no  doubt,  how  the  question  affected  me,  she  went 
on  to  give  some  reasons  for  wishing  to  go.  She  spoke  very  slowly,  in  the 
most  natural,  simple  way,  and  yet  with  an  indescribable  earnestness  of  look 
and  voice,  as  if  aware  that  she  was  uttering  her  dying  words.  I  can  not 
recall  all  that  she  said,  but  its  substance,  and  some  of  the  exact  expressions, 
are  indelibly  impressed  upon  my  memory.  For  my  and  the  children's  sake 
she  had  been  willing  and  even  desired  to  live ;  and  for  several  years  had 
made  extraordinary  efforts  to  keep  up,  although  much  of  the  time  the 
burden  of  ill-health,  as  I  well  knew,  had  been  well-nigh  insupportable.  So 
far  as  this  world  was  concerned,  few  persons  in  it  had  such  reasons  for 
wishing  to  live,  or  so  much  to  render  life  attractive.  But  the  feeling  in  her 
heart  had  become  overpowering  that  no  earthly  happiness,  no  interest,  no 
distraction,  could  any  longer  satisfy  her,  or  give  her  content,  away  from 
Christ ;  and  she  longed  to  be  with  Him,  where  He  is.  During  the  past 
three  months  especially,  she  had  passed  through  very  unusual  exercises 
of  mind  with  reference  to  this  subject ;  and  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  she  had 
now  reached  a  point  beyond  which  she  could  not  go.  She  evidently  had 
in  view  the  dreadful  sleeplessness,  to  which  she  had  been  so  in  bondage  for 
a  quarter  of  a  century,  whose  grasp  had  become  more  and  more  relentless, 
and  the  effects  of  which  upon  her  nervous  system  were  such  as  words  can 
hardly  describe.  No  human  being  but  myself  had  any  conception  of  her 
suffering,  both  physical  and  mental,  from  this  cause. 

To  return  to  her  conversation In  answer  to  a  question  which  I 

put  to  her  later,  about  her  view  of  heaven  and  of  the  relation  of  the  saints 
in  glory  to  their  old  friends  there  and  here,  she  replied,  in  substance,  that 
to  her  view  heaven  is  being  mith  Christ  and  to  be  with  Christ  is  heaven. 
By  this  she  did  not  mean,  I  am  sure,  to  imply  any  doubt  respecting  the  im- 
mortality of  Christian  love  and  friendship,  or  that  our  individual  human 
affections  will  survive  the  grave.  Often  had  she  delighted  herself  in  the 
thought  of  meeting  her  sainted  father  and  mother  in  heaven,  of  meeting 
there  Eddy  and  Bessie  and  other  dear  ones  who  had  gone  before  ;  and 
certain  I  am,  too,  she  believed  that  those  who  are  gone  before  retain  their 
peculiar  interest  in  those  who  are  toiling  after,  only  her  mind  was  so  ab 
sorbed  in  the  thought  of  the  presence  and  beatific  vision  of  Christ  in  His 
glory  that,  for  the  moment,  it  was  lost  to  everything  else. 


FOREVER   WITH   THE    LORD.  52 1 

Slic  then  said  that,  in  the  event  of  her  death,  she  would  Hke  to  be  buriea 
in  Dorset,  where  we  could  easily  visit  her  grave.  "  But  I  do  not  expect  to 
go  now,"  slie  added.  This  meant,  as  I  interpret  it,  that  she  regarded  so 
speedy  a  departure  to  be  with  Christ  as  something  too  good  to  he  true.  Re- 
peatedly, when  very  ill,  she  had  thought  herself  on  the  verge  of  heaven  and 
had  been  called  back  to  earth,  and  she  feared  it  would  be  so  now. 

Hardly  had  this  never-to-be-forgotten  conversation  come  to  a  close 
when  her  feet  entered  "  the  swelling  of  Jortlan,"  and  found  no  rest  until 
they  walked  the  "  sweet  fields  beyond."  Her  disease  (gastro-enleritis) 
returned  with  great  viok^nce;  the  medical  appliances  seemed  to  have  little 
or  no  effect  ;  and  the  paroxysms  of  pain  were  excruciating.  A  chill,  also, 
began  to  cretp  over  her.  About  two  o'clock,  to  my  inexpressible  relief,  the 
doctor  arrived.  Her  first  thought  was  that  he  should  rest  a  little  and  that 
some  ice-cream  should  be  brought  to  him.  In  answer  to  his  inquiries  she 
told  him  that  she  had  never  known  agony  such  as  she  had  endured  that 
forenoon,  and  he  immediately  applied  remedies  adapted  to  the  case.  But 
they  afforded  only  temporary  relief.  A  terrible  restlessness  seized  upon 
her  and  would  not  let  go  its  hold.  Towards  evening  she  got  into  the  sea- 
chair,  and  remained  in  it  near  the  open  window  until  morning.  On  leaving 
for  the  night  Dr.  Wyman  intrusted  her  to  the  care  of  Dr.  Slocum,  who  had 
recently  come  to  Dorset.  Dr.  S.  remained  with  her  all  night  and  was  inde- 
fatigable in  trying  to  alleviate  her  sufferings.  *'  How  kind  he  is  !  "  she  said 
to  me  once  when  he  had  left  the  room.  iM.  sat  up  with  me  till  towards 
morning  and  assisted  in  giving  the  medicines.  Her  distress  could  only  be 
assuaged  by  inhaling  chloroform  every  few  minutes  and  by  the  constant  use 
of  ice.  As  from  time  to  time,  going  down  for  the  ice,  I  stepped  out  on  the 
piazza,  the  scene  that  met  my  eye  was  in  strange  contrast  to  the  one  I 
had  just  left.  Within  the  sick-chamber  it  was  a  night  dark  with  suffering 
and  anxiety ;  as  the  hours  passed  slowly  away,  my  heart  almost  died  in  liie 
shadow  of  the  coming  event ;  all  was  gloom  and  agitation  except  the  su  eet 
patience  of  the  sufferer.  But  the  beauty  and  stillness  of  the  night  out  ol 
doors  was  something  marvellous.  The  light  of  the  great  harvest  moon  was 
like  the  light  of  the  sun.  It  flooded  hills  and  v.illey  with  its  splendor.  The 
outlines  of  each  mountain,  of  every  tree,  and  of  all  visible  objects,  far  or 
near,  were  as  distinct  as  those  of  the  stars,  or  of  the  moon  itself.  As  I 
stood  and  gazed  ui)on  the  infinite  beauty  of  the  scene,  1  felt,  as  never  in  uiy 
life  before,  how  helpless  is  Nature  in  the  presence  of  a  great  trouble.  Tiie 
beauty  of  the  night  was  fully  matched  by  that  of  the  morning.  As  the  first 
rays  of  the  sun  crossed  the  mountains  and  shone  down  upon  the  valley,  J 
said  to  myself,  even  while  my  heart  was  racked  with  anxious  foreboding — 
'•  How  wonderful  !     How  wonderful  !  " 

Monday,  Aug,  12///, — For  some  hours  she  seemed  much  more  comfort- 
able, and,  in  the  course  of  the  morning,  of  her  own  accord,  was  removed 
from  the  chair  to  the  bed.     "  On  Monday  morning  (writes  Dr.  Wyman)  1 


522  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.   PRENTISS. 

found  her  with  temperature  nearly  normal,  pulse  less  than  loo,  and  othet 
symptoms  improved.  This  gave  us  hope  that  the  worst  was  passed,  but  it 
was  only  the  lull  before  the  storm."  She  was  for  the  most  part  quiet  and 
took  little  notice  of  anything  that  was  going  on.  During  the  forenoon  M: 
tried  to  get  some  rest  in  the  sea-chair  by  the  window,  while  Hatty  kept  her 
place  by  the  bed.  Several  times  Lizzy  looked  round  the  room  as  if  in  quest 
of  some  one.  Hatty  perceiving  this  and  guessing  what  it  meant,  steppetl 
aside  (she  was  between  the  bed  and  the  chair  so  as  to  intercept  the  view), 
when  she  fixed  her  eyes  upon  M.  and  rested  as  if  she  had  found  what  she 
sough.t.  Having  been  up  most  of  the  night,  I  also  tried  to  get  a  little  rest 
in  another  room,  and  later  went  out  in  search  of  a  nurse  and  engaged  an 
excellent  one,  Mrs.  C,  who  came  early  in  the  afternoon. 

Notwithstanding  my  deep  anxiety  I  was  deceived  by  the  more  favorable 
symptoms,  and  did  not  allow  myself,  during  the  day,  to  think  she  would 
not  recover.     In  the  early  evening  I  wrote  to  A.,  who  was  absent  in  Maine  : 

I  am  sorry  to  say  that  your  mother  had  a  very  tr}4ng  day  yesterday  and  has  been  ex- 
tremely weak  and  exhausted  to-day jVervous  p?-os^raiiOH  appears  to  he  the  great. 

trouble.  She  has  rested  quietly  much  of  the  time  to-day  and  the  medi«^.ines  seem  to  be 
doing  their  work  ;  and  in  a  couple  of  days,  I  trast,  she  may  be  greatly  improved.  You 
know  how  these  ill-turns  upset  her  and  how  quickly  she  often  rallies  from  them.  She  is 
ver>'  anxious  you  should  not  shorten  your  visit  on  her  account. 

Soon  after  this  letter  was  written,  the  whole  aspect  of  the  case  suddenly 
changed.  The  unfavorable  symptoms  had  returned  with  renewed  violence. 
Dr.  W.  asked  her,  during  one  of  the  paroxysms,  about  the  pain.  She  an- 
swered that  it  was  not  a  pain — it  was  a  distress,  an  agony.  But  from  first 
to  last  she  never  uttered  a  groan — not  during  the  sharpest  paroxysms  of  dis- 
tress. She  seemed  to  say  to  herself,  in  the  words  of  two  favorite  German  mot- 
toes, which  she  had  illumined  and  placed  on  the  wall  over  her  bed,  Geduld, 
MeinHerzf  (Patience,  My  Heart  ^:)— Stills,  Mein  Wille  !  (Still,  My  Will !) 
"  The  patient  and  uncomplaining  manner,"  writes  Dr.  Wyman,  "  in  which 
the  most  agonizing  pains  which  it  has  ever  been  my  lot  to  witness  were 
borne — with  no  repining,  no  murmur,  no  fretfulness,  but  quiet,  peaceful 
submission  to  endure  and  suffer — will  not  soon  be  forgotten."  At  eleven 
o'clock,  when  the  doctor  left,  I  sent  the  nurse  away  for  a  couple  of  hours' 
rest  and  took  her  place  by  the  sick-bed.  Lizzy,  who  had  already  begun  to 
feel  the  effects  of  the  morphine,  lay  motionless,  and  breathed  somewhat 
heavily,  but  not  alarmingly  so. 

Tuesday.,  Aug.  i^fth. — Shortly  after  one  o'clock  I  called  the  nurse  and, 
directing  her  to  summon  me  at  once  in  the  event  of  any  change,  retired  to 
the  green-room  for  a  little  rest.  The  girls  had  been  persuaded  before 
the  doctor  left,  to  throw  themselves  on  their  bed.  Everything  was  quiet 
until  about  three  o'clock,  when  Hatty  knocked  at  my  door  with  a  message 
from  the  nurse.  I  hurried  down  and  saw  at  the  first  glance  as  I  entered 
the  room,  that  a  great  change  had  taken  place.     It  seemed  as  if  I  hcar'j 


FOREVER   WITH    THE    LORD.  523 

ihe  crack  of  doom  and  that  the  world  was  of  a  sudden  going  to  pieces.  1 
went  to  G.'s  room,  woke  him,  told  him  what  I  feared,  and  desired  him  to 
go  for  Dr.  Slocum  as  quickly  as  possible.  He  was  dres.sed  in  an  instant,  as 
it  were,  and  gone.  In  the  meantime  I  woke  H.,  and  told  him  his  mother,  I 
feared,  was  dying.  When  Dr.  Slocum  arrived  he  felt  her  pulse,  looked  at 
her  and  listened  to  her  breathing  for  a  minute  or  two,  and  then,  turning 
slowly  to  me,  said.  It  is  death  I  This  was  not  far  from  four  o'clock.  I 
asked  if  I  had  better  send  at  once  for  Dr.  Wyman  ?  "  He  can  do  nothing 
for  her,"  was  the  reply,  "but  you  had  better  send."  I  requested  G.  to  call 
Albert,  and  tell  him  to  go  for  Dr.  W.  as  fast  as  possible.  "  I  will  sad- 
dle Prince  and  go  myself,"  G.  said  ;  and  in  a  few  minutes  he  was  riding 
rapidly  towards  Factory  Point.  I  then  knocked  at  Dr.  Poor's  door.  Upon 
opening  it  and  being  told  what  was  coming,  he  was  so  completely  stunned 
that  he  could  with  difficulty  utter  a  word.  He  had  arrived  the  previous 
afternoon  on  the  same  train  by  which  Dr.  Vincent  left.  I  had  tried  by  tele- 
graph to  prei'tmt  his  coming  ;  but  a  kind  Providence  so  ordered  it  that  my 
message  reached  Burlington,  where  he  had  been  on  a  visit,  just  after  he 
had  started  for  Dorset. 

The  night,  like  that  of  Sunday,  was  as  day  for  brightness.  Never  shall 
I  forget  its  wondrous  beauty,  although  it  seemed  only  a  mockery  of  my 
distress.  Soon  after  the  first  rays  of  the  sun  appeared.  Dr.  Wyman  cnme, 
but  only  to  repeat,  //  is  death.  I  asked  him  how  long  she  might  be  a  dying. 
"  Perhaps  several  hours  ;  but  she  may  drop  away  at  any  moment."  We  all 
gathered  about  her  bed  and  watched  the  ebbing  tide  of  life.  The  girls 
were  already  kneeling  together  on  the  left  side.  They  never  changed  their 
posture  for  more  than  four  hours  ;  they  wept,  but  made  no  noise.  The  boys 
stood  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  deeply  moved,  but  calm  and  self-possessed. 
The  strain  was  fearful;  and  yet  it  was  relieved  by  blessed  thoughts  and 
consolations.  Although  the  chamber  of  death,  it  was  the  chamber  of 
peace,  and  a  light  not  of  earth  shone  down  upon  us  all.  He  who  was  seen 
walking,  unhurt,  in  the  midst  of  the  fire  and  whose  form  was  like  the  Son 
of  God,  seemed  to  overshadow  us  with  His  presence. 

As  the  end  drew  near,  we  all  knelt  together  and  my  old  friend.  Dr. 
Poor,  commended  the  departing  spirit  to  God  and  invoked  for  us,  who  were 
about  to  be  so  heavily  bereaved,  the  solace  and  support  of  the  blessed  Com- 
forter  The  breathing  had  now  grown  slower  and  less  convulsive, 

and  at  length  became  gentle  almost  like  that  of  one  asleep;  the  distressed 
look  changed  into  a  look  of  sweet  repose  ;  the  eyes  shut ;  the  lips  closed 
aiul  the  whole  scene  recalled  her  own  lines: 

Oh,  where  are  words  to  tell  the  joy  unpriced 
Of  il:c  rich  heart,  that  breasting  waves  no  more, 

Drifts  thus  to  shore, 
Laden  with  peace  and  lending  unto  Christ  I 

About  half-past  seven  it  became  evident  that  the  mortal  struggle  was  on 


524  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.    PRENTISS. 

the  point  of  ending'.  For  several  minutes  we  could  scarcely  tell  whether 
she  still  lived  or  not;  and  at  twenty  minutes  before  eight  she  drew  one 
long  breath  and  all  was  over. 

Again  we  knelt  together,  and  in  our  behalf  Dr.  Poor  gave  thanks  to  Al- 
mighty God  for  the  blessed  saint  now  at  rest  in  Him — and  for  all  she  had 
been  to  us  and  all  she  had  done  for  Him,  through  the  grace  of  Christ  her 
Saviour. 

The  following  account  of  the  burial  was  written  by  the 
Rev.  Dr.  Vincent  and  appeared  in  the  New  York  Evangelist : 

Dorset,  Vt.  August  i6,  1878. 
This  lovely  valley  has  been,  for  the  past  few  days,  "  a  valley  of  the 
shadow."  It  is  not  the  least  significant  tribute  to  one  so  widely  known  as 
Mrs.  Prentiss,  that  her  death  has  affected  with  such  real  sorrow,  and  with 
such  a  deep  sense  of  loss,  this  little  rural  community  which  has  been  her 
home  during  a  large  part  of  the  last  ten  years.  It  would  have  been  hard 
to  find  among  all  who  gathered  at  the  funeral  services  on  Wednesday,  a 
face  which  did  not  bear  the  marks  of  true  sorrow  and  of  tender  sympathy; 
while  from  the  groups  of  sunburned  farmers  gathered  round  the  door  or 
walking  towards  the  cemetery,  were  often  heard  the  words  "  a  great  loss." 

The  funeral  took  place  at  the  house  on  Wednesday  afternoon,  and  was 
conducted  by  the  Rev.  P.  S.  Pratt,  pastor  of  the  old  Congregational  Church 
of  Dorset ;  assisted  by  Dr.  Vincent,  and  Dr.  D.  W.  Poor.  Mr.  Pratt  read 
the  twenty-third  Psalm  and  a  part  of  the  fourteenth  chapter  of  John,  which 
was  followed  by  the  hymn,  "  O  gift  of  gifts,  O  grace  of  faith,"  after 
which  Dr.  Poor  delivered  a  most  appropriate,  tender,  and  interesting  ad- 
dress. Dr.  Vincent  then  offered  prayer,  and  the  hymn  "  Nearer,  my  God,  to 
Thee,"  was  sung,  closing  the  services  at  the  house.  The  large  assemblage 
passed  in  succession  by  the  casket,  where  lay  such  an  image  of  perfect  rest 
as  one  is  rarely  favored  to  see.  All  traces  of  struggle  and  pain  had  faded 
from  the  expressive  face,  and  nothing  was  left  but  the  sweetness  of  eternal 
repose. 

It  was  now  a  little  after  six  o'clock,  and  the  shadows  were  lengthening 
in  the  valley  at  the  close  of  one  of  those  rare  days  of  the  ripe  summer, 
which  only  the  hill-countries  develop  in  their  perfect  loveliness.  The  long 
procession  moved  from  the  house,  and  at  the  distance  of  about  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  entered  the  little  cemetery ;  and  as  it  mounted  the  slope  on  which 
was  the  grave,  the  scene  was  one  of  most  pathetic  beauty.  Standing 
in  the  shadow  of  the  hills  which  bound  the  valley  on  the  east,  the  eye 
ranged  southward  to  the  long,  undulating  outline  of  the  Green  Mountain, 
coming  round  to  tl^e  Equinox  range  on  the  west,  "  muffled  thick  "  to  its  very 
crest  wiih  the  grcer  maples  and  pines,  and  still  farther  round  to  the  bold 


FOREVER   WITH    TUF.    LORD.  525 

hills  and  slopinc^  uplnnds  on  the  north.  Below  Iny  the  quiet  villnj^c,  at  our 
leet  "  God's  acre,"  with  tiie  train  of  mourners  windin;^  amoni^  the  wiiitf 
stones.  Who  could  stand  there,  compassed  about  by  the  mountains,  and 
in  the  sh.adow  of  that  great  sorrow,  and  not  whisper  the  words  of  the  Pil- 
grim Psalm,  "  I  will  lift  up  mine  eyes  unto  the  hills.  Whence  should  help 
come  to  me?  My  help  cometh  from  Jehovah,  who  made  heaven  and 
earth." 

As  the  casket  was  borne  to  the  grave,  the  setting  sun.  which  for  the  last 
half  hour  had  been  hidden  by  a  mass  of  clouds,  burst  out  in  full  splendor, 
gilding  the  mountain-tops  and  shedding  his  parting  rays  upon  the  group 
around  the  tomb,  the  stricken  family,  the  weeping  neighbors  and  friends, 
especially  the  women  whom  for  some  years  past  she  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  meeting  at  her  weekly  Bible-reading,  and  some  of  whom  had  walked 
each  week  for  miles  along  the  mountain  roads,  through  storm  and  heat,  to 
drink  of  the  living  waters  which  flowed  at  her  touch. 

Dr.  Vincent,  holding  in  his  hand  a  little,  well-worn  volume,  and  stand- 
ing at  the  foot  of  the  grave,  spoke  substantially  as  follows  : 

I  am  glad,  my  friends,  that  I  am  not  one  of  those  who  know  God  only 
as  they  find  Him  identified  with  the  woods  and  fields  and  streams.  If  this 
were  so,  I  should  turn  from  the  grave  of  this  beloved  friend,  and  go  my 
way  in  utter  heart-sickness  and  hopelessness ;  for  Nature  would  but  mock 
me  to-day  with  her  fulness  of  summer  life.  These  lorest-clad  mountains, 
that  waving  grain,  those  woods,  pulsating  with  the  hum  of  insects  and 
with  the  song  of  birds,  all  speak  of  life,  while  we  stand  here  at  the  close 
of  a  precious  and  useful  human  life,  to  lay  m  the  dust  all  that  remains  of 
what  was  so  dear,  and  so  fruitful  in  good. 

But,  thanks  to  God,  we  are  not  here  as  those  who  face  an  insoluble  rid- 
dle. We  believe  in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  in  the  resurrection  of  the 
dead;  and  with  this  key  in  our  hand,. we  stand  here  at  the  grave's  mouth, 
and  looking  backward,  interpret  the  lesson  of  this  closed  life  ;  and  looking 
forward,  gaze  with  hope  into  the  future.  Thus  Nature  becomes  our  consoler 
instead  of  our  mocker;  a  ty|)e,  and  not  a  contradiction  of  human  immortal- 
ity. Thus,  and  only  thus,  do  we  find  ourselves  at  the  standpoint  from  which 
Christ  viewed  nature  when  He  said,  "  Kxcept  a  corn  of  wheat  fall  i.ilo  the 
ground  and  die  it  abideth  alone  ;  but  if  it  die,  it  brinj^elh  forth  much  fruit "; 
the  standjxjint  from  which  Paul  viewed  nature  when  he  wrote,  "  That  which 
thou  sowest  is  not  quickened  except  it  die  ;  and  that  which  thou  sowest, 
thou  sowest  not  that  body  which  shall  be,  but  bare  grain,  it  may  chance  of 
wheat,  or  of  some  other  grain  ;  but  God  giveth  it  a  body  as  He  willelli, 
and  to  ever)-  seed  his  own  body.  So  also  is  the  resurrection  of  liie  dead. 
It  is  sown  in  corruption,  it  is  raised  in  incorruption.  It  is  sown  in  dishonor, 
it  is  raised  in  glory.  It  is  sown  in  weakness,  it  is  raised  in  power.  It  is 
sown  a  natural  body,  it  is  raised  a  spiritual  body." 

And  thus  too  we  can  understand  the  words  which  I  read  from  this  litlk 


526  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.   PRENTISS. 

volume,  the  daily  companion  of  our  friend  for  many  years,  containing  a 
passage  of  Scripture  for  every  day  in  the  year,  and  marked  everywhere 
with  her  notes  of  special  anniversaries  and  memorable  incidents.  Was  it 
merely  an  accidental  coincidence  that,  on  the  morning  of  the  thirteenth  oJ 
August,  on  which  she  exchanged  earth  for  heaven,  the  passage  for  the  day 
was,  "  I  heard  a  voice  from  heaven  saying  unto  me,  Write,  Blessed  are  the 
dead  which  die  in  the  Lord,  from  henceforth,  yea,  saith  the  Spirit,  that  they 
may  rest  from  their  labors,  and  their  works  do  follow  them." 

There  are  tv/o  thoughts  in  this  verse  which  seem  to  me  to  be  fraught 
with  comJort  and  hope  to  us  as  we  gather  round  this  grave.  There  is  the 
thought  of  rest.  "  They  rest  from  their  labors."  Bethink  you  of  the  long 
life  marked  by  the  discipline  of  sorrow,  and  by  those  unwearied  labors  for 
others.  Bethink  you  of  the  racking  agony  of  the  last  two  days  ;  and  how 
blessed,  how  soothing  the  contrast  introduced  by  the  words — "  She  rests 
from  her  labors."  Still  is  the  busy  hand ;  at  rest  the  active  brain  ;  com- 
pleted the  discipline  ;  the  pain  ended  forever. 

The  other  thought  is  that  her  work  is  not  done,  so  far  as  its  results  are 
concerned.  "Their  works  do  follow  them."  Think  you  that  because  she 
will  no  longer  meet  you  in  her  weekly  Bible-readings,  because  her  pen  will 
no  more  indite  the  thoughts  which  have  made  so  many  patient  under  life's 
burdens,  and  helped  so  many  to  make  of  their  burdens  steps  on  which  to 
mount  heavenward — think  you  her  work  is  ended  ?  Nay.  Go  into  yonder 
field,  and  pluck  a  single  head  of  wheat,  and  plant  the  grains,  and  you  know 
that  out  of  each  grain  which  falls  into  the  ground  and  dies,  there  shall 
spring  up  an  hundred-fold.  Shall  you  recognise  so  much  multiplying  power 
in  a  corn  of  wheat,  and  not  discern  the  infinitely  greater  power  of  multi- 
plication enfolded  in  a  holy  life  and  in  a  holy  thought  ?  No.  Through  the 
long  years  in  which  her  mortal  remains  shall  be  quietly  resting  beneath 
this  sod,  the  work  of  her  tongue  and  pen  shall  be  reproducing  itself  in  new 
forms  of  power,  of  faith,  and  of  patience. 

And  yet  we  seem  to  want  something  more  than  these  two  thoughts 
give  us.  It  does  not  satisfy  us  to  contemplate  only  rest  from  labor  and  the 
perpetuated  fruits  of  labor.  And  that  something  this  same  little  volume 
gives  us  in  the  words  appointed  for  thi^  day,  on  which  we  commit  her 
mortal  part  to  the  grave  :  "  For  God  is  not  unrighteous  to  forget  your  work 
and  labor  of  love,  which  ye  have  showed  toward  His  name,  in  that  ye  have 
ministered  to  the  saints  and  do  minister.  Be  not  slothful,  but  followers  of 
them  who,  through  faith  and  patience,  inherit  the  promises."  Here  the 
veil  is  lifted,  and  we  get  the  glimpse  we  want  of  her  inheritance  and  reward 
ji  heaven.  She  has  inherited  the  promises ;  such  promises  as  these :  "If 
i^hildren,  then  heirs,  heirs  of  God,  and  joint-heirs  with  Christ ;  if  so  be  that 
we  suffer  with  Him,  that  we  may  be  also  glorified  together."  "  They  shall 
hunger  no  more,  neither  thirst  any  more,  neither  shall  the  sun  light  on 
them,  nor  any  heat ;  for  the  Lamb  which  is  in  the  midst  of  the  throne  shai] 


FOREVER  WITH   THE   LORD.  527 

feed  them,  and  shall  lead  them  to  living  fountains  of  waters,  and  God  shall 
wipe  away  all  tears  from  their  eyes."  "They  shall  see  His  face,  and  His 
name  shall  be  in  their  foreheads."  "To  him  that  overcomelh  will  I  grant 
to  sit  with  me  in  my  throne,  even  as  I  also  overcame,  and  am  set  down  with 
my  Father  in  His  throne." 

Thus  we  commit  this  mortal  body  to  the  ground  in  hope,  and  with  as- 
surances of  victoiy.  Oh,  it  is  one  of  the  most  wonderful  of  facts,  that  at  the 
grave's  very  portal,  amid  all  the  tears  and  desolation  which  death  brings,  we 
can  stand  and  sing  hymns  of  triumph— even  that  song  which,  from  tlie 
morning  when  the  angels  met  Mary  at  the  Lord's  empty  supulchre,  has 
been  sounding  over  the  graves  of  the  dead  in  Christ— "O  death,  where  is 
thy  sting?  O  grave,  where  is  thy  victory  ?  The  sting  of  death  is  sin  ;  and 
the  strength  of  sin  is  the  law  ;  but  thanks  be  to  God,  who  givelh  us  the 
victory  through  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ." 

How  sweet,  how  impressive,  is  this  scene  !  No  wonder  that  we  linger 
here  while  Nature,  at  this  evening  hour,  speaks  to  us  so  tei^derly  and  beau- 
tifully of  rest.  Even  as  yonder  clouds  break  from  the  setting  sun,  and  are 
tinged  with  glory  by  its  parting  beams,  so  our  sorrow  is  illumined  by  this 
truth  of  the  Resurrection.  There  is  no  terror  in  death,  and  relieved  by 
such  a  faith  and  hope,  our  thoughts  are  all  of  peace,  and  flow  naturally  into 
the  mould  of  those  familiar  lines  : 

♦'  So  fades  a  summer  cloud  away, 

So  sinks  the  ^ale  when  storms  are  o'er, 
So  gently  shuts  the  eye  of  day, 
So  dies  a  wave  along  Uic  shore." 

But  this  scene  is  adapted  also  to  kindle  aspiration  in  our  hearts- aspira- 
tion to  be  followers  of  them  who,  through  faith  and  patience,  inherit  the 
promises.  Her  victory  over  death  is  the  victory  of  love  to  Christ ;  and  that 
same  victory  may  be  yours  through  the  same  Christ  in  whose  name  she 
conquered.  Shall  we  not  pray  that  His  love  may  be  shed  abroad  in  all  our 
hearts  in  richer  measure  ?  And  can  we  better  frame  that  prayer  than  in 
those  lines  which  she  wrote  out  of  her  own  heart  ?     Let  us  then  sing 

MORE  LOVE  TO  THEE,  O  CHRIST. 

More  love,  O  Christ,  to  Thee  1 
Hear  Thou  the  prayer  I  moke 

On  bended  knee : 
This  is  my  earnest  pica, — 
More  love,  O  Christ,  to  Thee  I 
More  love,  O  Christ,  to  Thee  I 
More  love  to  Thee. 

Once  earthly  joy  I  craved, 

Soujjht  peace  and  rot; 
Now  Thee  alone  1  seek  ; 

Give  what  is  best  I 


528  THE   LIFE   OF   MRS.   PRENTISS. 

This  all  my  prayer  shall  be,— 
More  love,  O  Christ,  to  Thee  I 
More  love  to  Thee. 

Let  sorrow  do  its  work. 

Send  grief  and  pain ; 
Sweet  are  Thy  messengers, 

Sweet  their  refrain, 
When  they  can  sing  with  me 
More  love,  O  Christ,  to  Thee  I 

More  love  to  Thee. 

Then  shall  my  latest  breath 

Whisper  Thy  praise ! 
This  be  the  parting  cry 

My  heart  shall  raise. 
This  still  its  prayer  shall  be, 
More  love,  O  Christ,  to  Thee  1 

More  love  to  Thee. 

After  the  singing  of  these  words,  Mr.  Pratt,  according  to  the  old  country 
custom,  returned  thanks  to  the  assembled  friends  in  the  name  of  the  family, 
for  their  sympathy  and  aid  in  the  burial  of  their  dead.  The  several  mem- 
bers of  the  household  each  laid  a  floral  offering  upon  the  casket  lid,  and  the 
body  was  lowered  into  the  grave.  Dr.  Vincent  uttered  the  solemn  words 
of  committal  to  the  dust,  and  Dr.  Poor  pronounced  the  parting  blessing  in 
the  words,  "The  God  of  peace  who  brought  again  from  the  dead  our 
Lord  Jesus,  that  Great  Shepherd  of  the  sheep,  through  the  blood  of  the 
Everlasting  Covenant,  make  you  perfect  in  every  good  work  to  do  His  will, 
working  in  you  that  which  is  well-pleasing  in  His  sight,  through  Jesus 
Christ,  to  whom  be  glory  foiever  and  ever.     Amen." 

Thus  the  valley  of  the  shadow  has  been  irradiated.  To  those  who 
have  been  permitted  to  participate  in  these  closing  scenes,  it  has  seemed 
like  standing  at  heaven's .  gate.  The  valley  of  the  shadow  has  become  a 
transfiguration  mountain,  where  we  have  seen  the  Lord. 


Hardly  had  the  news  of  her  death  left  Dorset  when  there 
beo-an  to  pour  in  upon  its  stricken  household  a  stream  of  the 
tenderest  Christian  sympathy ;  nor  did  the  stream  cease  until 
it  had  brought  loving  messages  from  the  remotest  parts  of 
the  land.  Her  friends  seemed  overcome  with  special  wonder 
that  she  could  have  died,  so  vividly  was  she  associated  in  their 
thoughts  with  life  and  sunlight.     For  months,  too.  after  the 


FORF.VER   WITH   THE    T.ORD.  5?9 

return  of  the  family  to  their  city  home,  letters  from  far  and 
near  continued  to  bear  witness  to  the  min^ded  emotions  of 
sorrow  and  of  thanksi^nving  excited  b}'  her  sudden  tUparture 
from  earth — sorrow  for  a  great  personal  loss;  thanksgiving 
that  she  had  gone  to  be  forever  with  the  Lord.  A  little 
volume  of  selections  from  these  varied  testimonies  would  f(irm 
a  very  toucliing  and  precious  tribute  to  her  memory. 

"  The  human  heart,"  to  use  her  own  words,  **  was  made  by 
so  delicate,  so  cunning  a  hand,  that  it  needs  less  than  a  breath 
to  put  it  out  of  tune  ;  and  an  invisible  touch,  known  onl}-  to 
its  own  consciousness,  may  set  all  its  silvery  bells  to  ringing 
out  a  joyous  chime.  Happy  he,  thrice  blessed  she,  who  is 
striving  to  hush  its  discords  and  to  awaken  its  harmonies  by 
never  so  imperceptible  a  motion  !  "  Surely,  the  triple  bene- 
diction belonged  to  her.  Already  tens  of  thousands,  bc^h 
young  and  old,  w  lio  never  saw  her  face,  but  have  been  aided 
and  cheered  by  her  writings,  gladly  call  her  "  thrice  blessed." 
May  this  story  of  her  life  serve  to  increase  their  number  and 
so  to  render  her  name  dearer  still.  Above  all,  may  it  help  to 
inspire  some  other  souls  with  her  own  impassioned  and  ador- 
ing love  to  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ. 


APPENDIX. 


ArrENDix 


A. 

The  allusion  is  to  a  vouni^  ofllcer  of  the  navy.  James  Swan  Thatcher— 
a  grandson  of  General  Knox,  the  friend  of  Washington,  and  a  youn-ef 
brotiier  of  Lieutenant,  afterwards  the  gallant  Rear  Admiral,  Henry  Knc.x 
Thatcher.  He  had  become  deeply  interested  in  iMiss  Payson,  and  at  lenKih 
solicited  her  hand.  The  story  of  his  hopeless  attachment  to  her.  as  dis- 
closed after  his  death,  is  most  touching.  He  would  spend  hours  to- 
gether late  into  the  night  in  walking  about  the  house,  which,  to  borrow  his 
brother's  expression,  "  his  love  had  placed  on  holy  ground."  He  was  a 
youn-  man  of  singular  purity  and  nobleness  of  character-"  one  of  a  thou- 
sand'^' to  use  her  own  words-and,  although  she  could  not  accept  him  as  a 
lover,  she  cherished  for  him  a  very  cordial  friendship.  Not  long  afier.  he 
was  lost  at  sea.  In  later  years  she  often  referred  to  him  and  his  tragical 
end  with  the  tenderest  feeling.  The  following  is  an  extract  from  a  letlt-r 
of  Rear  Admiral  Thatcher  to  her  husband,  written  several  months  after  her 
death  and  shorily  before  his  own  : 

1  have  read  wilh  great  inlerest  your  reference  to  my  clear  and  only  brother   Jamcs 

Swan  Thatcher.     It  carried  me  back  to  one  of  the  saddest  afflicUons  of  my  life.    W  e  ha. 

both  been  stationed  at  Portland  for  the  purpose  of  recruiiinj:  seme  of  the  haray  sons  of 

Maine  as  seamen  for  the  U.  S.  naval  service.     The  wife  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Dw.,ht  had  ad- 

vised  my  calling  upon  Mrs.  Payson,  Cumberland  street,  to  obtain  quarters     1  did  so.  ^d 

xvith  my  wife  removed  from  a  noisy  hotel  to  the  quiet  of  that  most  desirable  retreat.     My 

brother  mule  frequent  visits  to  us.  and.  by  invitation  of  Mrs.  Payson   dined  wuh  us  on 

S  u      vs.  and  pasll  the  hours  between  n.eelings.  accomp..nyin,  the  ad.es  to  church  in 

U         'erm.ons.'  This  led  ...  an  acquaintance  l>elween  Miss  PayM.n  and  hnn^-lf.    As  l:ey 

were  b-th  highly  intellectual  and  were  both  •'stepping  heavenward,    they  na.urally   a... 

cied  each  other's  conversation  and   formed  a  mutual  fnendslup.     Until  after  n.y  dear 

brother's  death  I  never  imagined  that  it  was  more  than  a  fondnes.   or  Miss  Payson  s  cun- 

versational  gifts  that  induced  him  to  call  so  frequenily  at  Cumberland  street 

James  was  unexpectedly  or.Iered  to  join  the   U.  S.  .scluK,ner  C.rampus  at   Norfo  k.  W 

or  a  winter  cruise  on  the  Southern  coast  for  relief  of  distressed  merchant  vessels.     The 

n  i^e"  ntinued  for  son.e  weeks  without  entering  any  port,  but  about  the  =oth  of  March 

843^'  Grampus  appeared  off  the  b.ar  of  Charleston.  S.  C.  and  sent  in  a  'etter-bag    o 

mi'  ng      That  night  there  came  on  a  terrible  gale  and  the  Grampus  disappeared  fon.  or 

"nove:tige  of  her  ever  having  been  seen.     She  was  cmnKUui.!  by  Lt.-Comm..nde. 

Mbert  E.  Dowues.  a  good  man  and  a  fine  seaman,  and  who  a.  a  midsh.pn^an  l^d  sailed 

(533) 


534  APPENDIX. 

with  me  three  years  before  in  the  Pacific.     My  brother  was  educated  for  the  law,  an** 

studied  his  profession  with  the  Hon.  John  Holmes,  and,  after  completing  his  studies,  be- 
came Mr.  Holmes'  law-partner.  But  he  being  my  only  brother,  I  was  very  desirous  tliat 
he  should  obtain  a  commission  as  a  purser  in  the  navy,  iu  order  thai  we  might  be  asso- 
ciated on  duty ;  and,  at  Mr.  H.'s  request,  he  was  appointed  by  General  Harrison  soon 
after  his  inauguration.  My  brother  then  joined  me  in  Portland.  It  is  a  consolation  to 
know  that  he  lived  and  died  in  the  exercise  of  those  Christian  sentiments  which  were 
deeply  instilled  into  his  mind  by  the  society  of  your  angelic  wife,  who  has  preceded  you 
to  our  home  of  rest.     God  grant  that  we  may  all  meet  there  1 


B. 

S.    S.    PRENTISS. 


One  of  the  best  informed  writers  on  the  history  of  the  Revolutionary 
times  and  of  the  war  for  the  Union  thus  introduces  a  notice  of  Mr.  Prentiss  : 

Small  in  stature  ;  limping  in  gait ;  broad-chested  ;  a  high  intellectual  forehead  ; 
manly  beauty  in  every  feature  ;  a  voice  of  remarkable  sweetness  and  flexibility ;  a  mild 
but  deeply  penetrating  eye  ;  a  most  retentive  memory  ;  endowed  with  varied  knowledge 
by  extensive  reading  ;  unrivaled  in  power  of  oratory ;  frank  in  thought,  speech,  and 
manner ;  patient  and  forbearing  in  temper ;  powerfully  governed  by  the  affections,  and 
with  unbounded  generosity  of  disposition,  Seargent  Smith  Prentiss  was  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  characters  in  our  histoiy.  Living  persons  who  v.-ere  adults  a  generation  ago 
will  remember  how  the  newspapers  between  1835  and  1850  were  filled  with  his  praises  a3 
a  citizen  unapproachable  in  oratory,  whether  he  spoke  as  an  advocate  at  the  bar,  a  de- 
bater in  the  halls  of  legislation,  or  at  occasional  public  gatherings.  ^ 

S.  S.  Prentiss  was  born  at  Portland,  Maine,  September  30,  1808.  While 
yet  an  infant,  he  was  reduced  by  a  violent  fever  to  the  verge  of  the  grave 
and  deprived  for  several  years  of  the  use  of  his  limbs,  the  right  leg  remain- 
ing lame  and  feeble  to  the  last.  For  his  partial  recoveiy  he  was  indebted 
to  the  unwearied  care  and  devotion  of  his  mother,  herself  in  delicate  health. 

During  the  war  of  18 12  his  father  removed  to  Gorham.  At  the  academy 
in  this  town,  then  one  of  the  best  in  Maine,  Seargent  was  fitted  for  Bowdoin 
College,  where  he  was  graduated  in  the  class  of  1826,  at  the  age  of  seven- 
teen. After  studying  law  for  a  year  with  Judge  Pierce,  of  Gorham,  he  set 
out  for  what  was  at  that  day  the  Far  West,  in  quest  of  fortune.  Having 
tarried  a  few  months  at  Cincinnati,  he  then  made  his  way  down  the  Missis- 
sippi to  Natchez,  where  he  obtained  the  situation  of  tutor  in  a  private  fam- 
ily. Here  he  completed  his  legal  studies  ;  was  admitted  to  the  bar  in  June, 
1829,  soon  afterwards  became  the  law-partner  of  Gen.  Fehx  Huston,  and 
almost  at  a  bound  stood  in  the  front  rank  of  his  profession  in  the  State, 

1  B.  J.  Lussing,  LL.D.,  in  the  Christian  Union  of  Oct.  15,  iSjq. 


APPENDIX.  535 

"  Boundless  good-nature,"  to  use  the  language  of  Dr.  Losslng  ;  "  keen  logic ; 
quickness  and  aptness  at  repartee  ;  overflowing  but  kindly  wit ;  an  absolute 
earnestness  and  sincerity  in  all  he  undertook  to  do,  made  him  a  universal 
favorite  in  every  circle."  In  1832  Mr.  Prentiss  removed  to  Vicksburg. 
John  M.  Chilton,  a  leading  member  of  the  bar  of  that  place,  thus  describes 
his  first  appearance  in  the  Circuit  Court  of  Warren  county : 

There  arrived,  with  other  members  of  the  bar,  from  Natchez,  a  limping  youth  in 
plain  garb,  but  in  whose  bearing  there  was  a  manly,  indeed  almost  a  haughty,  njien  ;  in 
whose  cheek  a  rich  glow,  telling  the  influence  of  more  northern  climes ;  m  wlu.se  eye  a 
keen  but  meditative  expression  ;  and  in  whose  voice  and  conversation  a  vivacity  and  orig. 
inahty  that  attracted  every  one,  and  drew  around  him,  wherever  he  ai^pcared,  a  knot  ol 
listeners,  whose  curiosity  invariably  yielded  in  a  few  monients  to  admiration  and  dchgliU 
There  was  then  a  buzz  of  inquiry,  succeeded  by  a  pleased  look  of  friendly  recogiuiion, 
and  a  closer  approach,  and  in  most  instances  an  introduction,  to  the  object  of  this  general 
attraction,  so  soon  as  it  was  told  that  the  stranger  was  S.  S.  Prentiss,  of  Natchez,  llia 
fame  had  preceded  him,  and  men  were  surprised  to  see  only  beardless  youth  in  one  whose 
speeches,  and  learning,  and  wit,  and  fine  social  qualities,  had  akeady  rendered  him  ai 
Natchez  "  the  observed  of  all  observers." 

Society  in  the  Southwest  at  that  day  was  full  of  perils  to  young  men, 
especially  to  young  men  of  talent  and  generous,  impressionable  natures. 
Drinking,  duelling,  and  gambling  widely  prevailed.  It  %vas  a  period  ol 
-  flush  times,"  and  wild,  reckless  habits.  Mr.  Prentiss  did  not  wholly  es- 
cape  the  contagion  ;  but  his  faults  and  errors  were  very  much  exaggerated 
in  many  of  the  stories  that  found  currency  concerning  him.  One  of  his 
friends  wrote  after  his  death  :  "  I  have  heard  many  anecdotes  of  him.  which 
I  considered  of  doubtful  authority ;  for  he  is  a  traditional  character  all  over 
Mississippi-their  Cid.  their  Wallace,  their  Cocur  de  Lion,  and  all  ihe  old 
stories  are  wrought  over  again,  and  annexed  to  his  name."  Another  of  his 
friends,  who  knew  him  long  and  intimately,  the  late  Balie  Peyton,  of  Ten- 
nessee, testified  :  "  No  man  ever  left  a  purer  fame  than  Seargent  S.  Prentiss, 
in  all  that  constitutes  high  honor  and  spotless  integrity  of  character.  His 
principles  remained  as  pure,  and  his  heart  continued  as  warm  and  fresh,  as 
at  the  instant  he  bade  farewell  to  his  mother." 

From  his  settlement  at  Vicksburg  his  career  as  a  lawyer  was  one  of 
remarkable  success  ;  and  it  were  hard  to  say  in  what  tlepartmcnl  ol  his  pro- 
fcssion  he  most  excelled,  whether  in  the  varied  contests  of  the  Ntst  rnus 
courts,  in  an  argument  on  a  diflkult  question  of  legal  construction,  or  in  dis- 
cussing  a  iundamental  principle  o(  jurisprudence.  In  1833.  at  the  age  of  24. 
he  appeared  before  the  Supreme  Court  at  Washington,  where,  in  spile  of  his 
youth,  he  at  once  attracted  the  notice  of  Chief  Justice  Marshall.  "  I  made 
a  speech  three  or  four  hours  long  (he  wrote  to  his  mother)  ;  and  I  suppose 
you  will  say  I  have  acquired  a  great  deal  of  brass  since  I  left  home,  when  I 
tell  you  that  I  was  not  at  all  abashed  or  alarmed  in  addressing  so  grave  a 
set  ul  men  as  their  Honois  the  Judges  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United 


536  APPENDIX. 

States."     In  attending-  the  circuit  courts  of  Mississippi  he  had  experiences 
of  the  roughest  sort  and  many  a  hairbreadth  escape.     He  wrote  : 

I  travel  entirely  on  horseback  ;  and  have  had  to  swim,  on  my  horse,  over  creeks  and 
bayous  that  would  astonish  you  Northerners.  Beyond  Pearl  river  I  had  to  ride,  and 
repeatedly  to  swim,  through  a  swamp  four  miles  in  extent,  in  which  the  water  was  all 
the  time  up  to  the  horse's  belly.     What  do  you  think  of  that  for  a  lawyer's  life  ? 

In  the  winter  of  1836-7  he  won  the  great  "  Commons"  suit,  which  in- 
volved a  considerable  portion  of  the  town  of  Vicksburg.  This  made  him, 
as  was  supposed,  one  of  the  richest  men  in  the  State. 

About  this  time  he  was  induced  to  run  for  the  legislature  of  Mississippi. 
He  was  elected,  and  at  once  took  a  foremost  position  as  leader  of  his  party. 

The  next  summer  he  visited  his  home,  and  by  a  speech  at  a  Whig  political  meeting  in 
Portland,  on  the  Fourth  of  July,  he  so  electrified  his  hearers  by  his  eloquence  that  he 
was  pronounced,  in  the  East,  the  most  finished  orator  of  his  time  ;  as  he  really  was.  He 
became  a  candidate  for  a  seat  in  Congress,  and  made  the  most  remarkable  electioneering 
canvass  ever  recorded.  Traveling  on  horseback,  he  visited  forty-five  counties  in  a  sparsely- 
settled  country.  For  ten  weeks  he  traveled  thirty  miles  each  week-day,  and  spoke  each 
day  two  hours.  He  had  announced  his  engagements  beforehand,  and  never  missed  one. 
Mississippi  was  a  strong  "  Jackson  State,"  but  Mr,  Prentiss  carried  it  for  the  Whigs.  His 
seat  was  contested  by  his  Democratic  opponent,  and  his  speech  in  the  House  of  Represen- 
tatives at  Washington  in  favor  of  his  claim  gained  for  him  a  national  reputation  as  the 
greatest  orator  of  the  age.  It  occupied  three  days  in  its  deliveiy.  He  had  not  spoken  long 
before  intelligence  of  his  wonderful  oratory  reached  the  Senate  chamber  and  drew  its  mem- 
bers to  the  other  House.  Rumors  of  his  speech  ran  through  the  city,  and  before  it  was 
concluded  the  anxiety  to  hear  him  became  intense.  The  galleries  of  the  House  became 
densely  packed,  chiefly  with  ladies,  and  the  lobbies  were  crowded  with  foreign  ministers, 
heads  of  departments,  judges,  officers  of  the  army  and  navy,  and  distinguished  citizens. 
Among  the  charmed  auditors  were  the  best  American  statesmen  of  the  time  who  then 
occupied  seats  in  both  branches  of  Congress — John  Quincy  Adams  leading  those  of  the 
Representatives,  and  Daniel  Webster  and  Henry  Clay  of  the  Senate.  The  entire  self- 
possession  of  Mr.  Prentiss,  then  only  twenty-nine  years  of  age,  never  forsook  him  in  such 
an  august  presence.  There  was  no  straining  for  effect,  no  trick  of  oratory ;  but,  from 
the  first  to  tlie  last  sentence,  everything  in  manner,  as  in  matter,  seemed  perfectly  natural, 
as  if  he  were  addressing  a  jury  on  an  ordinary  question  of  law.  This  feature  of  his 
speech— this  evidence  of  sincerity  in  every  word— with  the  almost  boyish  beauty  of  his 
face,  bound  his  distinguished  audience  as  with  a  magic  spell.  When,  at  the  conclusion 
of  the  speech,  Mr.  Webster  left  tlie  hall,  he  remarked  to  a  friend,  with  his  comprehensive 
bre.vity,  "  Nobody  can  equal  that !  "  ^ 

Mr.  Prentiss  was  rejected  by  the  casting  vote  of  the  Speaker,  Mr.  Polk, 
and  the  election  sent  back  to  the  people  ;  when,  after  another  extraordinary 
canvass,  he  was  triumphantly  returned.  After  the  adjournment  of  Congress 
he  visited  his  mother  in  Portland.  About  this  time  a  great  reception  was 
given  to  Mr.  Webster,  as  defender  of  the  Constitution,  in  Faneuil  Hall,  and 
Mr.  Prentiss  was  invited  to  be  present  and  address  the  assemblage.  His 
speech  on  the  occasion  is  still  fresh  in  the  memory  of  all  who  heard  it.  He 
was  called  upon  late  in  the  evening,  and  after  a  succession  of  very  able 

1  B.  J.  Lossing  in  The  Christian  Union. 


APPENDIX.  537 

speakers ;  but  hardly  had  the  vast  audience  heard  the  tap  of  his  cane,  as  he 
stepped  forward,  and  caught  the  first  sound  of  his  marvellous  voice,  when 
he  held  them,  as  it  were,  spell-bound.  Before  he  had  uttered  a  word,  in 
deed,  he  had  taken  possession  of  his  audience  by  his  ver)-  look — for,  when 
aroused  by  a  great  occasion,  his  countenance  flashed  like  a  diamond.  Gov. 
Everett,  who  presided  at  the  banquet,  himself  an  orator  of  classic  power, 
thus  referred  to  Mr.  Prentiss'  address,  in  a  letter  written  more  than  a  dozen 
years  later: 

It  seemed  to  me  the  most  wonderful  specimen  of  sententious  flucnc>'  I  had  ever  wit- 
nessed. The  words  poured  from  liis  lips  in  a  torrent,  but  tlie  sentences  were  correctly 
formed,  the  matter  piave  and  important,  the  train  of  thought  distinctly  pursued,  the  illus- 
trations v^onderfully  happy,  drawn  from  a  wide  range  of  reading',  and  aided  by  a  brilliant 
imagination.  That  it  was  a  carefully  prepared  speech,  no  one  could  believe  for  a  moraenL 
It  was  the  overflow  of  a  full  mind,  swelling  in  the  joyous  excitement  of  the  friendly 
reception,  kindling  with  the  glowing  themes  suggested  by  the  occasion,  and  not  unmoved 
by  the  genius  of  the  place.  Silling  by  Mr.  Webster,  I  asked  him  if  he  had  ever  beard 
anything  like  it  ?     He  answered,  "  Never,  except  from  Mr.  Prentiss  himself." 

Political  life  was  exceedingly  distasteful  to  Mr.  Prentiss  and  he  soon 
abandoned  it  and  returned  with  fresh  zeal  to  the  practice  of  his  profession. 
The  applauses  of  the  world  seemed  never  for  an  instant  to  deceive  him. 
He  wrote  after  a  great  speech  at  Nashville,  addressed,  it  was  estimated,  to 
40,000  people :  "  They  heap  compliments  upon  me  till  I  am  almost  crushed 
beneath  them."  And  yet  in  the  midst  of  such  popular  ovations  he  wrote 
to  his  sister: 

I  laugh  at  those  who  look  up*)n  the  uncertain,  slight,  and  c!iaT>gcable  regards  of  l\\e 
multitude,  as  worthy  even  of  comparison  with  the  true  affection  of  one  warm  heart.  I 
have  ever  yearned  for  affection  ;  I  believe  it  is  the  only  thing  of  whicli  I  am  avaricious. 
I  never  had  any  personal  ambition,  and  do  not  recollect  the  time  when  I  would  not  have 
exchanged  the  applause  of  thousands  for  the  love  of  one  of  my  ftllow-beings. 

In  1S42  his  yearning  for  affection  was  satisfied  l)y  his  marri.ige  to  Miss 
Mary  Jane  Williams,  of  Natchez ;  and  henceforth  his  life  was  full  of  the 
sweetest  domestic  peace  and  joy.  From  the  moment  of  first  leaving  home 
he  had  carried  on  a  constant  correspondence  with  his  mother,  sisters,  and 
brothers,  in  the  North  ;  and  he  kept  it  up  while  he  lived.  He  took  a  sp>ecial 
interest  in  the  educ.Mion  of  his  youngest  brother,  and  at  one  lime  had  planned 
to  join  him  in  Germany  for  purposes  of  study  and  travel.  All  the  Liter  jears 
of  his  life  were  years  of  unwearied  toil  and  struggle. 

In  1845  a  case  involving  the  validity  of  his  title  to  the  "Commons" 
property,  was  decided  against  him  in  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United 
States  ;  tlius  wresting  from  him  at  a  blow  that  property  and  the  costly 
buildings  which  he  had  erected  ujwn  it.  In  conse<|ucncc  of  this  misfortune 
and  of  his  abhorrence  of  repudiation,  which,  in  spite  of  his  determined  op- 
position, had,  unhappily,  been  foisted  upon  his  adopted  State,  he  removed 
to  New  Oilc.uis  in   1S46.     Here,  notwithstanding  that  lie  had  to  master  a 


538  APPENDIX. 

new  system  of  law,  he  at  once  took  his  natural  position  as  a  leader  of  the 
bar ;  and  but  for  failing  health,  would  no  doubt  have  in  the  end  repaired 
his  shattered  fortunes  and  made  himself  a  still  more  brilliant  name  among 
the  remarkable  men  of  the  country.  He  died  at  Natchez,  July  i,  1850,  ir 
the  forty-second  year  of  his  age,  universally  beloved  and  lamented.  He  left 
a  wife  and  four  young  children,  three  of  whom  still  survive. 

Mr.  Prentiss  was  a  natural  orator.  Even  as  a  boy  he  attracted  every- 
body's attention  by  the  readiness  and  charm  of  his  speech.  But  all  this 
would  have  contributed  little  toward  giving  him  his  marvellous  power  over 
the  popular  mind  and  heart,  had  he  not  added  to  the  rare  gifts  of  nature 
the  most  diligent  culture,  a  deep  study  of  life  and  character,  and  a  wonder- 
ful knowledge  of  books.  The  whole  treasury  of  general  literature— more 
especially  of  English  poetry  and  fiction — was  at  his  command ;  Shakespeare, 
Milton,  and  Byron  he  almost  knew  by  heart ;  with  the  Bible,  Pilgrim's 
Progress,  and  Sir  Walter  Scott,  he  seemed  to  be  equally  familiar ;  and  from 
all  these  sources  he  drew  endless  illustrations  in  aid  of  his  argument, 
whether  it  was  addressed  to  a  jury,  to  a  judge,  to  the  people,  or  to  the 
legislative  assembly.  When,  for  example,  he  undertook  to  show  the  wrong- 
fulness of  Mississippi  repudiation,  he  would  refer  to  Wordsworth  as  "  a  poet 
and  philosopher,  whose  good  opinion  was  capable  of  adding  weight  even  to 
the  character  of  a  nation,"  and  then  expatiate,  with  the  enthusiasm  of  a 
scholar,  upon  the  noble  office  of  such  men  in  human  society.  He  had  cor- 
responded with  Mr.  Wordsworth  and  knew  that  members  of  his  family  had 
suffered  heavily  from  the  dishonesty  of  the  State  ;  and  perhaps  no  passages 
n  his  great  speeches  against  repudiation  were  more  effective  than  those  in 
which  he  thus  brought  his  fine  literary  taste  and  feeling  to  the  support  of 
the  claims  of  public  honesty.  This  feature  of  his  oratory,  together  with  the 
large  ethical  element  which  entered  into  it,  was,  no  doubt,  a  principal 
source  of  its  extraordinary  power.  It  would  be  hard  to  say  in  what  depart- 
ment of  oratory  he  most  excelled.  On  this  point  the  following  is  the  testi- 
mony of  Henr>'  Clay,  himself  a  great  orator  as  well  as  a  great  statesman, 
and  one  of  Mr.  P.'s  most  devoted  and  admiring  friends  : 

Mr.  Prentiss  was  distinguished,  as  a  public  speaker,  by  a  rich,  chaste,  and  boundless 
imagination,  the  exhaustless  resources  of  which,  in  beautiful  language  and  happy  illustra- 
tions, he  brought  to  the  aid  of  a  logical  power,  which  he  wielded,  to  a  very  great  eritent. 
Always  ready  and  prompt,  his  conceptions  seemed  to  me  almost  intuitive.  His  voice  was 
fine,  softened,  and,  I  think,  improved,  by  a  slight  lisp,  which  an  attentive  obser\'er  could 
discern.  The  great  theatres  of  eloquence  and  public  speaking  in  the  United  States  are 
the  legislative  hall,  the  forum,  and  the  stump,  without  adverting  to  the  pulpit.  I  have 
known  some  of  my  contemporaries  eminently  successful  on  one  of  these  theatres,  without 
being  able  to  exhibit  any  remai-kable  ability  on  the  others.  Mr.  Prentiss  was  briUiant  and 
successful  on  them  all. 

Of  the  attractions  of  his  personal  and  social  character  the  testimonies 
are  very  striking.  Judge  Bullard,  in  a  eulogy  pronounced  before  the  bar  ol 
New  Orleans,  thus  refers  to  his  own  experience  : 


APPENDIX.  539 

What  can  T  say  of  the  noble  qualities  of  his  heart  ?  Who  can  descnbe  the  clari:is  .il 
his  conversation  ?  Old  as  I  am,  his  society  was  one  of  my  {greatest  plea<^ures — I  became 
A  boy  again.  His  conversation  resembled  the  ever-varyinjj  clouds  ihal  cluster  round  l1".e 
sotting  sun  of  a  summer  evening — tlieir  edges  fringed  with  gold,  and  the  noiseless  and 
harmless  flashes  of  lightning  spreading,  from  time  to  time,  over  their  dark  bosom. 

In  a  similar  strain  Gov.  J.  J.  Crillcnden,  of  Kentucky,  wrote  jf  luru 
shortly  after  his  death  : 

It  was  impossible  to  know  him  without  feeling  for  him  admiration  and  love.  I  lis 
genius,  so  rich  and  rare;  his  heart,  so  warm,  generous,  and  magnanimous;  and  liia 
manners,  so  graceful  and  genial,  could  not  fail  to  impress  these  sentiments  upon  all  who 
approached  him.  Eloquence  was  a  part  of  his  nature,  and  over  his  private  cunversaliuna 
as  well  as  his  public  speeches  it  scattered  its  sparkling  jewels  with  more  ihau  royal  pro- 
fusion. 


c. 

Here  are  the  first  stanzas  of  some  of  her  favorite  German  hymns,  referred 
tc  in  this  letter  : 

Jesus,  Jesus,  nichts  als  Jesus 
Soil  mein  Wunsch  sein  uiid  mein  Ziel ; 
Jctzund  mach  ich  ein  Vcrbundniss, 
Dass  ich  will,  was  Jesus  will ; 
Denn  mein  Herz,  mit  ihm  erfullt, 
Rulel  nur;  Ilerr,  wie  du  willt. 

liriacn  by  HlizaU'tli,  Countess  of  Sdnvartzl uii:,  \(x\o- xd-j-x. 

Ciott  ist  gegenwartig  1     Lasset  uns  anbetcn, 

L'lid  ill  lirfurcht  vor  ihn  treten  ; 

r.ott  ist  in  der  mitten  I    AUes  in  uns  schweige 

Und  sich  innig  vor  ihm  beuge  ; 

Wer  ihn  kennt,  wer  ilin  nennt, 

Schlagt  die  Augen  nicder, 

Kommt,  ergebl  euch  wieder. 

By  Cerhard  Tersteegen,  i6;7- 1,-69. 

Zum  Kmst,  rum  Enisl  rufl  Jesu  (Jeiiil  iuwcndig  ; 
Zum  ICrnst  rufl  auch  die  Stimme  stiner  Braul ; 
Gelreu  und  ganz,  und  bis  zum  T<xi  Ix^standig. 
Kin  reincs  Ilerz  allein  den  rcinen  schaul. 

By  the  Same. 

Wir  singen  dir,  Immanucl, 
Du  I.ebeiisfurst  und  Gnadenqi'.cll, 
I>u  llimmelsblum  und  Mcirgi;nstcm, 
Du  Juni;frausohn,  Ilerr  ailer  llerrn. 

Paul  Gerhard,  1606-1676. 


540  APrENDIX. 


Such,  wer  da  will,  ein  ander  Ziel 

Die  Seligkeit  zu  finden, 
Mein  Herz  allein  bedacht  soil  sein 

Auf  Christum  sich  zu  grunden  : 
Sein  Wort  ist  wahr,  sein  Werk  ist  klar, 
Sein  heilger  Mund  hat  Kraft  und  Grund, 

All  Feind  zu  iiberwinden. 

George  Weissel,  1590-1635. 

Gott,  mein  einziges  Vertrauen, 

Gott,  du  meine  Zuversicht, 
Deine  Augen  zu  mir  schauen, 

Deine  Hiilf  versage  mir  nicht ; 
Lass  mich  nicht  vergeblich  schreien, 
Sondern  hor  und  lass  gedeihen  ; 
So  will  ich,  Gott,  halten  still, 
Gott,  dein  Will  ist  auch  mein  Will. 

Elizabeth  E/eo7iore,  Duchess  of  Sax-Meiningen^  1658-17291 

O  Durchbrecher  aller  Bande, 
Der  du  immer  bei  uns  bist, 

Bei  dera  Shaden,  Spott  und  Schande 
Lauter  Lust  uud  Kimmel  ist, 

Uebe  femer  dein  Gerichte 
Wider  unsem  Adamssinn, 

Bis  dein  treues  Angesichie 
Uns  fuhrt  aus  dem  Kerken  hin. 

Goiter.  Arnold^  1666-1714. 


Lavaters  Hymn. 

He  must  increase,  but  1  must  decrease. 

—John  iii.  30. 

O  Jesus  Christus,  wachs  in  mir, 
Und  alles  andre  schwinde  I 
Mein  Herz  sei  taj^lich  naher  dir, 
Und  ferner  von  der  Sunde. 

Lass  taglich  deine  Huld  und  Macht 
Um  meine  Schwachheit  schweben  I 
Dein  Licht  verschlinge  meine  Nacht, 
Und  meinen  Tod  dein  Leben  I 

Beim  Sonnenstrahle  deines  Lichts 
Lass  jeden  Wahn  verschwinden  I 
Dein  Alles,  Christus,  und  mein  nichts. 
Lass  taglich  mich  emptiuden. 


AriT-NDix.  541 

Sei  naho  niir,  werf  icli  mi'  h  hin, 
Wein  ich  vor  dir  iu  stillen  ; 
Dein  reiner  f^ott^jelas-^ncr  Sinn 
Belierrsche  intincn  Willeii. 

Plick  imnier  herrlirher  aus  niir 
VuU  Wcisl-.eii  Hukl  uml  Treudc, 
Icli  sei  cin  lebciul  Bikl  vun  dir 
Im  Gluck,  und  wenn  ich  Icide. 

Macii  alles  in  mir  fioh  und  gut, 
Dass  stcts  ich  miniler  fehle  ; 
Herr,  deincr  Menschcn-Liebe  Glut 
Durchjjjluhe  meinc  Scele. 

I's  weiclic  Stolz,  und  TrfiKheit  wcich  ; 
Und  jeder  Leichtsinn  fhebe, 
Wenn,  Herr,  nach  dir  und  dcincm  Reich 
Ich  redlich  mich  bemuhe. 

Mein  ei^jnes,  cities,  leeres  Ich 
Sei  jcden  Tag;  i?erinf:er. 
O  wurd  ich  jedcn  Tag  durch  dirh 
Dein  wurdij^crer  Junger. 

\'on  dir  erfiilUer  jeden  Tag 
Und  jeden  von  mir  Icerer  ! 
O  du,  dcr  uber  I'lehn  vermag, 
Sei  nieincs  1-  lehns  crhorer  ! 

Her  Cilaub  an  dich  und  dcine  Kraft 
Sei  Tiicb  von  jedcm  Triebe  I 
Sei  du  nur  nicine  Ixidenschaft, 
Du  meine  1  reud  und  Liebe  I 


D. 
A  FEW  extracts  from  ihc  liulc  diaries  referred  to  are  iiere  piven  : 

May  15,  iS57.-H"X  came  fiom  Mrs.  Ilumstead-my  dear,  kind  fricnd-containlnf 
iverytlunr  salmon,  tomatoes  oranges,  pcaclics,  prunes  cocoa  and  ham,  tea  and  svn:ai 
/romherfallier.'  How  pleasant  the  kindness  nf  fricml. !  an/. -Worked  at  plantmc 
aster  seeds  and  pulling  in  verbena  cutlings—all  in  n»y  room,  of  course,  ay.— lirst 
hepaticas  in  garden.  Sweet  peas  coming  up.  Brownie  hatched-<»«^  chicken.  Junt 
,5A-Rooks  from  dear  Lizz)-.  ••  Sickness,"  may  it  do  mc  good.'  a8//l.-Scnl  flowers  to 
1  Mr.  N.ahnnicl  Willis,  then  in  hin  7<5lh  year.  He  died  at  Bo-.lon.  May  76,  1870.  in  the  90th 
year  of  his  age. 

«  Sickness  :  its  Tri.-.ls  and  lUc^sings.     A  »cry  w,*e  and  comJorting  book.     She  bequeathed  il 
b.ick  to  Mrs.  Prentiss  at  her  death. 


542 


APPKNDTX. 


the  B.'s,  Howers  and  strawberries  to  Mrs.  N.,  preen  peas  to  E,  M.,  c.nd  trout  to  Mothci 
Hopkins.  July  zc'.— Continue  to  send  strav/berries— yesterday  to  the  B.'s~to-day  la 
A.  B.  and  Miss  G.,  with  rosebuds. 

Oct.  iit/i.—A  beautiful  autumn  day.  Could  not  leave  my  bed  till  near  noon.  Then 
Albert  drove  me  down  die  lane  and  caiTied  me  into  the  woods  in  his  arms.  Eddy  has 
collected  $30  for  Kansas. »  25//;.— My  whole  time,  night  and  day,  is  spent  in  setting 
traps  for  sleep.  To-day  the  money  was  sent  for  Kansas— $55,  of  which  $9  was  from  us. 
r:nv.  4///.— Election  day.  Great  excitement.  5///.— Wretched  news ;  it  is  feared  tiiat 
Buchanan  is  elected.  Nov.  ijZ/z.— The  anniversary  of  my  dear  mother's  death.  My  own 
can  not  be  far  distant.  /  earjiestly  entreat  that  none  0/  my  friends  ivill  wear  mourning 
/01  me. 

January  i,  1S58.— Outwardly  all  looks  dark— health  at  the  lowest— brain  irritated 
and  suffering  inexpressibly— but  utiderneath  all,  thank  God,  some  patience,  some  resig- 
nation, some  quiet  trust.  If  it  were  not  for  wearing  out  my  friends  I  But  this  care,  too, 
I  must  learn  to  cast  on  Ilim. 

^/■//. —Albert  is  reading  Miss  Bronte's  Life  to  me,  and  oh,  how  many  chords  vibrate 
deep  in  my  soul  as  1  hear  of  her  shyness  ;  her  dread  of  coming  in  contact  with  others  ; 
her  morbid  sensitiveness  and  intense  suffering  from  lowness  of  spirits ;  her  thirst  for 
knowledge,  her  consciousness  of  personal  defects,  etc.,  etc.,  etc. 

g,//;._Storms  to-day  "like  mad."  Present  from  Julia  Willis.  Each  day  seems  a 
week  long,  but  let  me  be  thankful  that  I  have  a  chair  to  sit  in,  limbs  free  from  palsy, 
books  of  all  sorts  to  be  read,  and  kind  friends  to  read.  Oh,  yes ;  let  me  be  thankful.  A. 
brouglit  "  School-days  at  Rugby."  22^.— Eddy  began  to  wear  his  coat !  A.  read  to  me 
Tom  Brown's  "School-days."  23^.— Love  is  the  word  that  fills  my  horizon  to-day, 
God  IS  Love ;  I  must  be  like  Him.  Feb.  3^.— How  lovely  seem  the  words  DUTY  and 
P^.1GHT  !  How  I  long  to  be  spotless— all  pure  within  and  without !  .  .  .  .  Albert  read 
from  Adolph  Monod.     What  a  precious  book !    23a'.— To-mon'ow  I  shall  be  forty-six 

years  old.     If  I  said  C7te  hundred  I  should  beUeve  it  as  well.     24///.— My  birthday 

1  feel  disposed  to  take  as  my  motto  for  this  year,  "  I  will  hope  continually,  and  vx'ill  yet 
praise  Thee  more  and  more:'  Eddy  began  Virgil  to-day.  27//-.— Woke  with  a  strong 
impression  that  I  am  Christ's,  His  servant,  and  as  such  have  nothing  to  do  for  myself— 
no  separate  interest.  Oh,  to  feel  this  and  act  upon  it  always.  And  not  only  a  seiA-ant, 
but  a  child  ;  and  therefore  entitled  to  feel  an  interest  in  the  affairs  of  the  Family.  Albert 
read  from  the  Silent  Comforter  the  piece  called  "Wearisome  Niglits,"  which  is  an  exact 
expression  of  my  state  and  feelings.  Long  to  do  some  good,  at  least  by  praying  for  people. 
A  note  from  Mrs.  C.  Stoddard  to  my  husband  and  myself,  which  was  truly  refreshing. 
2,6th.— 1\\\s  morning  God  assisted  me  out  of  great  weakness  to  converse  and  pray  with 
my  beloved  child.  He  also  prayed.  I  can  not  but  entertain  a  trembling  hope  tliat  he  is 
indeed  a  Christian.     So  great  a  mercy  would  fill  me  witli  transport. 

April  6th.— "■  I  love  the  Lord  because  He  hath  heard  my  voice  and  my  supplication" 
(Ps.  cxvi.  I).  Albert  read  this  psalm  to  mc  nearly  fifteen  years  ago,  the  morning  of  the 
day  succeeding  that  on  which  God  had  delivered  me  out  of  great  danger  and  excruciating 
sufferings  and  had  given  us  a  living  child.  Our  hearts  swelled  with  thankfulness  then  ; 
now  we  have  received  our  child  a  second  time — Viwcw  gift.  Junc'$>th. — A. 's  holiday. 
I  irst  strawberry  !  and  first  rose  !  (cinnamon). 

July  3^/.— Oh,  my  dear,  dear  sister  Lizzy  !  Shall  I  never  sec  you  again  in  this  world  ? 
\  fancied  I  was  famihar  with  the  thought  and  reconciled  to  it,  but  now  it  agonizes  me.* 

Dec.  2.6th. — I  do  loitg  to  submit  to — no,  to  accept  joyfully — the  will  of  God  in  every- 
tiiing ;  to  see  only  Love  in  every  trial.     But  to  be  made  a  w!np  in  His  hand  wil!i  which 

1  To  a-d  in  defending  it  against  the  "  Bordcr-RulTians." 

^  Mrs.  I'rentiss  was  on  her  way  to  Europe.     Before  sailing  she  went  to  Williamstown  to  saj 
good  bye  to  her  sister  but  the  latter  was  too  ill  to  see  her.    They  never  met  a^juin  on  caith. 


APPENDIX.  543 

to  scourg^e  others — I,  who  so  passionately  desire  lo  give  pleasure,  to  ^vc  only  pain — I, 
who  so  hate  to  cause  suficriii};,  lo  inflict  nolliin};  else  on  my  best  friends— oh,  this  ii 
hard!  ....  I  write  by  feeling;  with  eyes  closed.  It  is  midnij^ht ;  and,  as  usual,  1  am 
and  have  been  sleepless,     I  am  full  of  tossing^s  to  and  fro  until  the  dawn.     All  temjxjraJ 

blessings  seem  to  be  expressed  by  one  word — iileep Disease  is  advancing  wiib 

rapid  strides  ;  many  symptoms  of  paralysis  ;  that  or  insanity  certain,  unless  God  in  mer- 
cy to  myself  and  my  friends  takes  me  home  first. 

31^/. — "  Here  then  to  Thee  Thine  own  I  leave — 
Mould  as  Thou  wilt  Thy  passive  clay  ; 
But  let  me  all  Thy  stamp  receive, 
But  let  me  all  Thy  words  obey. 
Serve  with  a  single  heart  and  eye, 
And  to  Thy  glory  live  or  die." 

Jan.  26,  1859. — Cars  ran  through  from  Adams  lo  Troy  first  time.  Eddy  studying 
Greek,  Latin,  etc.,  at  school ;  Geology  at  home.  Feb.  yi. — Much  of  the  day  in  intense 
bodily  anguish,  but  have  had  lately  more  of  Christ  in  my  heart.  Albert  is  reading  me  a 
precious  sermon  by  Huntinj^lon  on  "a  life  hid  with  Christ  in  God."  Oh,  to  learn  more 
of  Christ  and  His  love  !  5///. — O  God,  who  art  rich  in  mercy,  if  Thou  art  looking  for 
some  creature  on  whom  to  bestow  it,  behold  the  poorest,  neediest,  emptiest  of  all  Thou 
hast  made,  and  satisfy  me  with  Thy  mercy.  Sunday,  tth. — How  thankful  I  am  for  the 
many  good  books  I  have  I  and  oh,  how  I  stand  amazed  at  the  faith  and  patience  of  God's 
dear  children  (Mrs.  Coutts,  e.s-)y  to  read  of  whose  sulTcrings  makes  my  heart  bleed  and 
almost  murmur  on  their  account.  March  i-,th. — "  So  foolish  was  I  and  ignorant,  I  was 
as  a  beast  before  Thee."     Oh,  how  it  comforts  me  that  there  is  such  a  vei-se  in  the  Bible 

as  this  !     It  comes  near  describinj;:  my  folly,  stupidity,  ignorance,  and  blindness 

Quite  overcome  to-day  by  a  most  unexpected  favor  from  my  dear  friends  the  Jameses,* 
who  I  thought  had  forgotten  mc.  April  12///.— My  love  to  my  dear,  dear  sister.  I  shall 
never  see  her,  never  write  to  her,  but  we  will  spend  eternity  together. 

Dec  ist. — Albert  opened  the  piano,  and,  for  the  first  time  in  six  years,  I  touched  it. 
Beautiful  flower-pictures  from  Lizzy." 

Sunday,  Jan.  1,  1S60.— "Out  of  weakness  were  made  strong."  This  is  the  verse 
v/hich  has  been  given  me  as  a  motto  for  the  year.  May  it  be  fulfilled  in  my  experience  ! 
But  should  it  not  be  so  to  my  apprehension,  may  I  be  able  to  say,  "  Most  gladly,  there- 
fore, will  I  glory  in  my  infirmities,  that  the  power  of  Christ  may  rest  upon  me." 

March  26///.— I- or  several  days  I  have  been  led  to  pray  that  the  indwelling  Spirit  may 
indile  my  petitions.  To-day  He  leads  mc  to  pray  for  the  annihilation  of  self.  My  whole 
boul  cries  out  for  this — to  forget  my  own  sorrows,  wants,  sins  even,  and  lose  myself  in 

Christ O  precious  Saviour,  let  me  see  Thee  ;  let  me  behold  Thy  beauty  ;  let  me 

liear  Thy  voice  ;  let  nie  wash  Thy  feel  with  tears  ;  let  me  gaze  on  Thee  forever. 

March  yist. — A  remarkable  day.  isi.  Weather  like  Indian  summer.  2d.  After  a 
very  jwor  night,  ex|)ecling  lo  spend  the  day  in  bed,  1  was  so  slrengthcnc<l  as  lo  ride  up 
to  tlie  mountain  with  Albert  and  to  enjoy  seeing  the  mosses.  In  ihc  P.M.  ro<le  again  with 
EvKly. 

"yune  30///.— For  years  I  have  been  constantly  fearing  insanity  or  palsy.     Nf)w  1  hcoj 

of  J.Irs. struck  with  paralysis  and  my  dear  friend with  mental  alienation,  while 

I  am  spared. 

June  27///.— Let  a  person  lake  a  delicately-strung  miL^cal  instrument  and  striLc  blowi 
on  it  with  a  hammer  till  nearly  every  string  is  broken  an<l  ihc  whole  instnimiMit  trembief 
and  shrieks  under  the  infliction — that  is  what  has  been  done  lo  mc.  Woi  1<  are  cntirelj 
madequaie  to  paint  what  I  suffer. 

>  Referring  to  the  family  of  Rev.  Wui.  J.-»mcs,  D.D.,  of  Albany.  •  .Sci.t  from  Gcnc\  ricr. 


544  APPENDIX. 

Jtine  30///.— Another  great  mercy.  A  letter  from  N.  P.  W.^  Under  date  of  Jun« 
4th,  I  wrote,  "May  God  bless,"  etc.,  and  God  has  blessed  him.  Oh,  praise,  praise  to 
Him  who  hears  even  before  we  ask. 

April  ■2!b,  1S61.— "  Haugs  my  helpless  soul  on  Thee."  Oh,  how  many  thousand  times 
do  I  repeat  this  line  during  the  sleepless  hours  of  my  wretched  nights  ! 

As  the  year  advanced,  the  entries  became  fewer  and  fewer ;  some  of 
them,  by  reason  of  extreme  weakness  and  suffering,  having  been  left  unfin- 
ished. But  no  weakness  or  suffering  could  wholly  repress  her  love  of  Nat- 
ure. Imprisoned  within  the  same  pages  that  record  her  nights  and  days  of 
anguish  are  exquisite  bits  of  fern,  delicate  mosses,  rose-leaves,  and  other 
flowers  pressed  and  placed  there  by  her  own  hand.  But  far  more  touching 
than  these  mementoes  of  her  love  of  Nature  are  the  passages  in  this  diary 
of  her  last  year  on  earth,  that  express  her  love  to  Christ  and  testify  to  His 
presence  and  supporting  grace  in  what  she  describes  as  "  the  fathomless 
abyss  of  misery  "  in  which  she  was  plunged.  They  remind  one  of  the  tints 
of  unearthly  light  and  beauty  that  adorn  sometimes  the  face  of  a  thunder- 
clord.     They  are  such  as  the  following : 

Jime  II,  1S61.— Blessed  be  God  for  comfort.  I  see  my  sins  all  gone— all  set  down  to 
Christ's  account ;  and  not  only  so,  but— oh,  wonder  !— all  His  merits  transferred  to  me. 
Well  may  it  be  said,  "Let  us  come  boldly  to  the  throne  of  grace."  Why  not  be  bold 
with  such — just  like  presenting  an  order  at  a  bank. 

Nov.  6///.— Come,  O  come,  dear  Lord  Jesus  !  Come  to  this  town,  this  church,  this 
family,  and  oh,  come  to  this  poor  longing  famished  heart. 

Sunday,  Nov.  xoth.—K  better  night  and  some  peace  of  mind.  But  O  my  Saviour, 
support  me  ;  let  not  the  fiery  billows  swallow  me  up  !  And  O  let  me  not  fail  to  be  thank- 
ful for  the  mercies  mingled  in  my  cup  of  suffering— a  pleasant  room  adorned  with  gifts 
of  love  from  absent  friends,  and  just  now  with  beautiful  mosses  brought  from  the  woods 
by  my  dear  husband. 

The  next  entry  contains  directions  respecting  parting  gifts  to  be  sent  to 
her  sister  and  other  absent  friends  after  her  death.  Then  comes  the  last 
entry,  which  is  as  follows  : 

"I  need  not  be  afraid  to  ask  to  be— first,  'holy  and  without  blame  before  Him  in 
love';  second,  'filled  with  all  the  fullness  of  God';  third ." 

Here  her  pen  dropped  from  her  hand,  and  a  little  later  her  wearisome  pil 
grimage  was  over,  and  she  entered  into  the  saint's  everlasting  rest. 


Further  extracts  from  her  literary  journal : 

Tuesday,  Jan.  11,  1836.— Last  meeting  of  the  class.  Mr.  Dana  made  some  remarks 
Intended  as  a  sort  of  leave-taking.  He  spoke  of  the  importance  of  having  some  fixed 
principles  of  criticism.  These  principles  should  be  obtained  from  within — from  the 
Btudy  of  our  own  minds.  If  we  tiy  many  criticisms  by  this  standard,  we  shall  turn  away 
from  them  dissatisfied.  Addison's  criticisms  on  Milton  are  often  miserable,  and,  where 
he  is  right,  it  seems  to  be  by  a  sort  of  accident.     He  constantly  appeals  to  the  Freucli 

»  N.  P.  Willis. 


APPENDIX.  545 

cntics  as  aiilhorities.  Another  advantag-e  will  result  from  establisliinp  principles  of  judg*- 
ing— we  shall  acquire  self-knowlcdr^e.  We  can  not  ask  ourselves,  Is  this  true  ?  does  il 
accord  with  my  own  consciousness  ?  etc.,  without  gaininj^  an  acquaintance  with  ourselves. 
And  then,  in  i,'eneral,  the  more  the  taste  is  cultivated  and  refined,  the  more  we  shall  fine? 
to  like.  Critics  by  rule,  who  have  one  narrow  standard  by  which  they  try  everything, 
may  find  much  to  condemn  and  little  to  approve  :  but  it  is  not  so  in  nature,  nor  with 

those  who  judge  after  nature.     The  jrreat  duty  is  to  learn  to  be  happy  in  ourselves 

I  am  surprised  (said  Mr.  Dana)  to  find  how  much  my  present  tastes  and  judg:ments  are 
those  of  my  childhood.  In  some  respects,  to  be  sure,  I  have  altered  ;  but,  in  general,  the 
authors  I  loved  and  sympathised  with  then,  I  love  and  sympathise  with  now.  When  I 
was  connected  with  the  North-American,  I  wrote  a  review  of  Hazlitt's  British  Poets,  in 
which  I  expressed  my  opinion  of  Pope  and  of  Wordsworth.  The  sensation  it  excited  is 
inconceivable.  One  man  said  I  was  mad  and  ought  to  be  put  in  a  strait-jacket.  How- 
ever, I  did  not  mind  it  much,  so  long  as  they  did  not  put  me  in  one— that,  to  be  sure,  I 
should  not  have  liked  very  well.  Public  opinion  has  changed  since  then.  Many  of  the 
old  prose  writers  are  very  fine.     Jeremy  Taylor,  though   I  admire  him  exceedingly,  has 

been,  I  think,  rather  indiscriminately  praised To  come  to  the  poets  again.  Young 

should  be  read  and  thought  upo;..  He  is  often  antithetical,  but  is  a  profound  th.inker. 
I  was  quite  ashamed  the  other  day  on  taking  up  his  works  to  find  how  many  of  my 
thoughts  he  had  expressed  better  than  I  could  express  them.  I  am  convii^ced  ihere  is 
nothing  new  under  the  sun.  Collins  has  written  but  little,  but  he  is  a  most  giaceful  and 
beautiful  creature.  For  faithfulness  of  portraiture  and  bringing  out  ever>'-day  characters, 
Crabbe  is  unrivalled  in  modem  days.  And  Wordsworth— he  and  Coleridge  have  been 
obliged  to  make  minds  to  understand  them.  Who  equals  Wordsworth  in  purity,  in  maj- 
esty, in  tranquil  contemplation,  in  childlikeness  ?  Coleridge  is  exerting  a  great  influence 
in  this  country,  esisecially  over  the  minds  of  some  of  the  young  men. 

Friday. — To-day  by  invitation  I  attended  the  first  meeting  of  the  new  class  and 
heard  the  introductory  lecture.  Mr.  D.  began  by  speaking  of  the  object  of  the  formation 
of  the  class.  I  shall  adopt  the  first  person  in  writing  what  he  said,  though  I  do  not  pre- 
tend to  give  his  words.  I  have  not  invited  you  here  to  amu.se  an  idle  hour,  or  to  a.ford 
you  a  topic  of  conversation  when  you  meet.  One  great  design  has  been  to  cherish  in 
you  a  love  of  home  and  of  solitude.  Yet  this  is  not  all,  for  of  what  advantage  is  it  to  be  at 
home,  unless  home  is  a  place  for  the  unfolding  of  warm  alTections  ?  and  of  what  use  is  soli- 
tude, unless  it  be  improved  by  patient  thought,  self-study  and  a  communion  with  iho^a 
great  minds  who  became  great  by  thinking.  But  it  is  not  merely  thinking  as  an  oi>era- 
tion  of  the  intellect  that  is  necessary  ;  it  must  Ix;  affectionate  thinking ;  there  must  be 
heartfelt  love,  and  this  can  be  attained  only  by  a  ItaHt  of  loving I  would  not  im- 
part sternness  to  the  beautiful  c(;untenance  of  English  literature.  Pcautiful  indee<l  it  us, 
but  not  like  the  beauty  of  the  human  face,  that  may  be  discovered  by  all  who  have  eyes 
to  look  upon  it ;  the  heart  as  well  as  the  head  must  engage,  or  ;is  Coleridge  says,  th« 
heart  in  the  head.  Let  us  not  approach  with  carelessness  or  light-mindedness.  Poetry 
requires  a  peculiar  state  of  mind,  a  i>eculiar  combination  of  mental  and  moral  qualifica- 
tions to  be  feelingly  apprehended.  Hut  there— I  will  not  write  a  word  more.  Il  is  a 
shame  to  spoil  anything  so  beautiful.  Poor  Mr.  Dana !  I  hope  he  will  never  know  to 
what  he  has  been  subjected. 

IVedneuiaw — Ever)body  has  set  out  to  invite  me  to  visit  them.  I  made  two  visits 
last  evening,  one  to  Mrs.  Robinson,  where  I  had  a  fine  opportunity  tosottlc  some  of  my 
Hebrew  ilifficiillics  with  Prof.  K.,  ;ujd  saw  De  Wclle's  translations  of  Job.  This  evening 
I  am  to  make  two  more,  and  to-morrow  1  spend  the  tlay  «)Ut  and  receive  company  in  the 
evening.     So  much  for  dissipation,  and  for  study. 

PoKri.ANU,  March  t,  1S36. 

1  believe  there  i^i  scarcely  any  branch  of  kuowledtjc  iu  which  1  am  jkj  deficient  ai  hi»« 

35 


546 


APPENDIX. 


tory,  both  ecclesiastical  and  profane.  I  have  never  been  much  interested  in/acfs,  con« 
sidered  simply  as  facts,  and  that  is  about  all  that  is  to  be  found  in  most  historical  works. 
The  relations  of  facts  to  each  other  and  of  all  to  reason,  in  other  words,  the  philosophy  ol 
history,  are  not  often  to  be  found  in  books,  and  I  have  not  hitherto  been  able  to  supply 
the  want  from  my  own  mind.  April  i6,  1S36. — If  my  bump  of  combativeness  does  not 
grow  it  won't  be  for  want  of  exercise.  I  have  had  another  dispute  of  two  hours'  length 
to-day  with  another  person.  Subjects,  Cousin — Locke — innate  ideas— idea  of  space-  -of 
spirit-life,  materialism — phrenology — Upham — wine — alcohol — etc. 

June. — My  patience  has  been  sorely  tried  this  afternoon.  I  was  visiting  and  Cole- 
ridge was  dragged  in,  as  it  seemed  for  the  express  purpose  of  provoking  me  by  abusing 
him— just  as  anybody  might  show  off  a  lunatic But  I  did  not  and  never  will  dis- 
pute on  such  subjects  with  those  who  seek  not  to  know  the  truth. 

Feb.  6,  1S37. — Why  is  it  that  our  desires  so  infinitely  transcend  our  capacities  ?  We 
grasp  at  everything — do  so  by  the  very  constitution  of  our  natures  ;  and  seize — less  than 
nothing.  We  can  not  rest  without  perfection  in  everything^  yet  the  labor  of  a  life  devoted 
to  one  things  only  shows  us  how  unattainable  it  is.  I  am  oppressed  with  gloom — oh,  for 
light,  light,  light !  Feb.  20th. — Alas  !  my  feelings  of  discouragement  and  despondency, 
instead  of  diminishing,  strengthen  every  day.  I  have  been  ill  for  the  last  fortnight ;  and 
possibly  physical  causes  have  contributed  to  shroud  my  mind  in  this  thick  darkness.  Yet 
I  can  not  believe  that  conviction  so  clear,  conclusions  so  irresistible  as  those  which  weigh 
me  down,  are  entirely  the  result  of  morbid  physical  action.  In  order  to  prove  that  they 
are  not,  and  to  have  the  means  of  judging  hereafter  of  the  rationalness  of  my  present 
judgments,  I  will  record  the  grounds  of  my  despondency.  As  nearly  as  I  can  recollect,  the 
thought  which  oftenest  pressed  itself  upon  me,  when  these  feehngs  of  gloom  began,  was 
that  I  was  Uving  to  no  purpose.  I  was  conscious,  not  only  of  a  conviction  that  I  ought  to 
live  to  do  good,  but  of  an  intense  desire  to  do  good — to  k?iow  that  I  was  living  to  some 
purpose  ;  and  I  felt  perfectly  certain  that  this  knowledge  was  essential  to  my  happiness. 
I  began  to  wonder  that  I  had  been  contented  to  seek  knowledge  all  my  life  for  my  own 
pleasure,  or  with  an  indefinite  idea  that  it  might  contribute  in  some  way  to  my  usefulness, 

without  any  distinct  plan I  then  began  to  inquire  what  results  I  had  of  "all  my 

labor  which  I  have  taken  under  the  sun  "  and  these  are  my  conclusions  : 

1.  I  have  not  that  mental  discipline,  or  that  command  of  my  own  powers,  which  is 
one  of  the  most  valuable  results  of  properly  directed  study.  I  can  not  grasp  a  subject  at 
once,  and  \aew  it  in  all  its  bearings. 

2.  I  have  not  that  self-knowledge  which  is  another  sure  result  of  proper  study.  I  do 
not  know  what  I  am  capable  of,  nor  what  I  am  particularly  fitted  for,  nor  what  I  am 
most  deficient  in.  I  am  forever  pouring  into  my  own  mind,  and  yet  never  find  out  what 
is  there. 

3d.  I  have  no  principle  of  arrangement  or  assimilation  which  might  unite  all  my  scat- 
tered knowledge.  Oh,  how  different  if  I  had  had  one  definite  object  which,  like  the 
lens,  should  concentrate  all  the  scattered  rays  to  one  focus.  I  met  with  this  remark  of  Sir 
Egerton  Bridges  to-day ;  it  applies  to  me  exactly :  "I  have  never  met  mth  one  who 
seemed  to  have  the  same  oven-uling  passion  for  literature  as  I  have  always  had.  A  thou- 
sand others  have  pursued  it  with  more  principle,  reason,  method,  fixed  purpose,  and  ef- 
fect ;  mine  I  admit  to  have  been  pure,  blind,  unregulated  love." 

4th.  I  have  lost  the  power  of  thinking  for  myself.  My  memor}',  which  was  originally 
good,  has  been  so  washed  away  by  the  floods  of  trash  which  have  been  poured  into  it, 
that  now  it  scarcely  serves  me  at  all. 

A  pleasant  picture  this  of  a  mind,  which  ought  to  be  in  the  full  maturity  of  its  pow- 
ers. And  much  reason  have  I  to  hope  that  with  such  an  instrument  I  shall  leave  an  im- 
press on  other  minds  !  .  .  .  .  How  I  envy  the  other  sex  !  They  have  certain  fixed  paths 
marked  out  for  them — regular  professions  and  trades— between  which  they  may  make  a 


APPENDIX.  547 

choice  and  know  what  they  have  to  do.  A  friend,  to  whom  I  had  sprkcn  of  some  oi 
these  feeling^s,  tried  last  nipht  to  convince  me  thai  thoy  are  the  result  of  physical  de- 
rangement, and  not  at  all  the  expression  of  a  sane  mind  in  a  sound  body.  1  laughed  at 
him,  but  have  every  now  and  tlicn  a  suspicion  that  he  was  right. 

Feb.  'z^tlt. — Last  evening  we  had  the  company  of  some  friends  who  are  inlcrested  in 
the  subjects  which  I  love  most  to  talk  about.  W'e  liad  a  good  deal  of  conversation  about 
books,  authors,  the  laws  of  mind  and  spirit,  etc.  My  enthusiasm  on  these  subjects  re- 
vived ;  I  felt  a  genial  glow  resulting  from  the  action  of  mind  upon  mind,  and  the  delight 
of  finding  sympathy  in  my  most  cherished  tastes  and  pursuits.  Whether  it  is  owing  to 
this  or  not,  I  can  not  say ;  but  I  must  confess  to  a  new  change  of  mood,  and,  conse- 
quently, of  opinion.  I  mean  that  my  studies  have  not  only  regained  their  former  attrac- 
tions in  my  e3'es,  but  that  it  seems  unquestionably  right  and  proper  to  pursue  them  (when 
they  interfere  with  no  positive  duty)  as  a  means  of  expanrlingand  strengthening  the  mind 
— even  when  I  can  not  point  out  the  precise  use  I  expect  to  make  of  such  acquisi- 
tion  

One  of  my  friends  tried  to  convince  me  last  night  that  I  was  not  deficient  in  invention, 
becau^^I  assigned  the  fact  that  I  am  so,  as  a  reason  for  attempting  translation  rather 
than  original  writing.  Several  others  have  labored  to  convince  me  of  the  same  thing. 
Strange  that  they  can  be  so  mistaken  I  I  know  that  I  have  no  fancy,  from  having  tried 
to  exert  it ;  and,  as  this  is  the  lower  power  and  implied  in  imagination,  of  course  I  have 
none  of  the  latter  faculty.  The  only  two  things  which  look  like  it  are  my  enthupia5m 
and  my  relish  for  works  of  a  high  imaginative  order. 

Feb.  z^th. — .  .  .  .  Oh,  how  transporting — how  infinite  will  be  the  delight  when  all 
truth  shall  burst  upon  us  as  one  beautiful  and  perfect  whole—each  distinct  ray  harmoi>- 
sing  and  blending  with  every  other,  and  all  together  forming  one  mighty  flood  of  rarli- 
ance  !....!  can  not  remember  all  the  thoughts  which  have  given  so  much  pleasure  this 
evening ;  I  only  know  that  I  have  been  very  happy,  and  wondered  not  a  li'.tle  at  my  late 
melancholy.  I  believe  it  must  have  been  partly  caused  by  looking  at  myself  (and  that, 
too,  as  if  I  were  a  little,  miserable,  isolated  wretch),  instead  of  contemplating  those  things 
which  have  no  relation  to  space  and  time  and  matter— tlie  eternal  and  tlie  infinite — or,  if 
I  thought  of  myself  at  all,  feeling  that  I  am  part  of  a  great  and  wondeifnl  whole.  It 
seems  as  if  a  new  inner  sense  had  been  opened,  revealing  to  me  a  world  of  beauty  and 
perfection  tliat  I  have  never  before  seen.  I  am  filled  with  a  strange,  yet  sweet  astonisli- 
ment. 

Seft.  24,  1S37. — I  have  been  profoundly  interested  in  the  character  of  Goethe,  from 
reading  Mrs.  Austin's  "  Characteristics  "  of  him.  Cci-tninly,  vei7  few  men  have  ever  hvi^l 
of  equally  wonderful  pov.-ers.  A  thing  most  remarkable  in  him  is  what  I  he  (Germans  call 
Vielseiligkeit,  many-sidedness.  There  was  no  department  of  science  or  art  of  which  he 
was  wholly  ignorant,  while  in  very  many  of  both  classes  his  knowledge  was  accurate  and 
profound.  Must  men  who  have  attained  to  distinguished  excellence,  have  done  so  by 
confining  themselves  to  a  single  department — fre<juently  being  led  to  the  choice  by  a 
strong,  original  bias.  Kvcn  when  this  is  not  the  case,  there  is  some  class  of  objects  or 
pursuits,  towards  which  a  particular  inclination  is  manifested  ;  one  loves  facts,  and  devoid 
himself  tD  obser\'ations  ami  experiments;  another  loves  principles  and  seeL>  cver)\vh(Te 
to  discover  a  law.  One  cherishes  the  Ideal,  and  neglects  and  despises  the  Real,  while 
another  reverses  his  judgment.  We  have  become  so  accustomed  to  this  one-sidedncss 
that  it  occasions  no  wonder,  and  is  regarded  as  the  natural  state  of  the  mind.  Thus  we 
are  struck  with  astonishment  on  finding  a  mind  like  Goethe's  e<]ually  at  home  in  the 
Ideal  and  the  Real ;  equally  intereste<l  in  the  laws  of  po«'tical  critici'-ra,  and  the  theory  of 
colors,  equally  attentive  to  a  draw  ing  of  a  new  i-p«.cics  «>f  plants,  and  to  the  plan  of  a  railn>ad 
or  canal.  In  short,  with  the  most  delicate  sense  of  the  Beautiful,  the  most  accurate  con« 
ceplion  of  the  modt  of  its  representation,  vand  the  most  intense  longing  for  it  (wliicb 


548  APPENDIX. 

alone  would  liave  sufficed  to  make  him  an  Idealist)  he  united  a  fondness  for  observation, 
a  love  of  the  actual  in  nature,  and  a  susceptibility  to  deep  impressions  from  and  interest 
in  the  objects  of  sense,  which  would  have  seemed  to  mark  him  out  for  a  Realist.  But  is 
not  this  the  true  state  of  the  mind,  instead  of  beinjj  one  which  should  excite  astonish- 
ment ?  Is  it  not  one-sidedness  rather  than  many-sidedness  that  should  be  regarded  as 
strange  ?  Is  it  not  as  much  an  evidence  of  disease  as  the  preponderance  of  one  element 
or  function  in  the  physical  constitution  ? 

•ztth. — I  have  been  thinking  more  about  this  many-sidedness  of  Goethe.  It  is  by  no 
means  that  versatility  which  distinguishes  so  many  second-rate  genuises,  which  inclines 
to  the  selection  of  many  pursuits,  but  seldom  permits  the  attainment  of  distinguished 
excellence  in  one.  It  was  one  and  the  same  piinciple  acting  throughout,  the  striving 
after  unity.  It  was  this  which  made  him  seek  to  idealise  the  actual,  and  to  aciuaUse  the 
Ideal.  The  former  he  attempted  by  searching  in  each  outward  object  for  the  law  which 
governed  its  existence  and  of  which  its  outwai'd  developmen'  was  but  an  imperfect  symbol, 
the  latter  by  giving  form  and  consistency  to  the  creations  of  his  own  fancy.  Thus  the  on6 
was  ever-present  to  him,  and  he  sought  it  not  in  one  path,  among  the  objects  of  one 
science  alone,  but  everywhere  in  nature  and  out.  In  all  that  was  genuine  nature  he  knew 
that  it  was  to  be  found  ;  that  it  was  not  to  be  found  in  the  acquired  and  the  artilTCial  was 
perhaps  the  reason  of  his  aversion  for  them.  This  aversion  he  carried  so  far  that  even 
acquired  virtue  was  distasteful  to  him.  Whatever  may  be  thought  of  such  a  distaste 
esthetically,  we  must  think  that,  morally,  it  was  carrying  his  principle  rather  to  an 
extreme,  I  have  just  come  across  a  plan  of  study  which  I  formed  some  months  ago  and  I 
could  not  but  smile  to  see  how  nothing  of  it  has  been  accomphshed.  I  was  to  divide  my 
attention  between  philosophy,  language  (not  languages),  and  poetiy.  The  former  I 
was  to  study  by  topics  ;  e.g.^  take  the  subject  of  perception,  write  out  my  own  ideas  upon 
it,  if  I  had  any,  and  then  read  those  of  otlier  people.  In  studying  language,  or  rather 
ethnography,  I  intended— i.  To  take  the  Hebrew  roots,  trace  all  the  derivatives  and 
related  words  first  in  that  language,  then  in  others.  2.  To  examine  words  relating  to  the 
spiritual,  with  a  view  to  discover  their  original  picture-meaning.  3.  Search  for  a  type  or 
symbol  in  nature  of  every  spiritual  fact.  Under  the  head  of  poetry  I  mean,  to  study  the 
great  masters  of  epic  and  dramatic  poetr>',  especially  Shakspeare  and  Milton,  and  from 
tnem  make  out  a  science  of  criticism.     Alas  ! 

April  5,  1S38.— I  have  been  thinking  about  myself— what  a  strange,  wayward,  incom- 
prehensible being  I  am,  and  how  completely  misunderstood  by  almost  everybody.  Uniting 
excessive  pride  witli  excessive  sensitiveness,  the  greatest  ardor  and  passionateness  of  emotion 
with  an  irresolute  will,  a  disposition  to  distrust^  in  so  far  only  as  the  affection  of  others 
for  me  is  concerned,  with  the  extreme  of  confidence  and  credulity  in  everything  else — an 
incapability  of  expressing,  except  occasionally  as  it  were  in  gushes,  any  strong  feeling — a 
tendency  to  melancholy,  yet  with  a  susceptibility  of  enjoyment  almost  transporting— subject 
to  the  most  sudden,unaccountable  and  irresistible  changes  of  mood — capable  of  being  melted 
and  moulded  to  anything  by  kindness,  but  as  cold  and  unyielding  as  a  rock  against  harslmess 
and  compulsion — such  are  some  of  the  pecuharities  which  excellently  prepare  me  for  un- 
happiness.  It  is  true  that  sometimes  I  am  conscious  of  none  of  them — when  for  days 
together  I  pursue  my  regular  routine  of  studies  and  employments,  half  mechanically — or 
when  completely  under  the  infiuence  of  the  outward,  I  live  for  a  time  in  what  is  around 
me.  But  this  never  lasts  long.  One  of  the  most  painful  feelings  I  ever  know  is  the 
sense  of  an  unappeasable  craving  for  sympathy  and  appreciation— the  desire  to  be  under- 
stood and  loved,  united  with  the  conviction  that  this  desire  can  never  be  gratified.  I  feel 
aione^  different  from  all  others  and  of  course  misunderstood  by  them.  The  only  other 
feeling  I  have  more  miserable  than  this  is  the  sense  of  being  ivorse  than  all  others,  and 
utteriy  destitute  of  anything  excellent  or  beautiful.  Oh  !  what  mysteries  are  wrapped  up 
In  the  mind  and  heart  of  man  !  What  a  development  will  be  made  when  the  light  oi 
another  wurid  shall  be  let  in  upon  Uiese  impenetrable  recesses  I 


'APPEXDIX.  54^ 

PCSTON,  Jan.  7,  1S39.— I  came  here  on  the  last  day  of  the  laM  year,  and  have  since 
then  been  very  nuicli  occupied  in  different  ways.  Yesterday,  1  heard  President  Hopkins 
all  day,  and  in  the  evening;,  a  lecture  from  Dr.  l-ollen  on  Pantheism.  The  most  abstract 
of  all  pantheistic  systems  he  described  to  be  that  of  the  Prahnuins,  a.>,  tauj^hi  in  the  Vedaa 
and  Vedashta,  and  also  at  y?/-.>/  by  Schellin^,  viz.,  that  tJie  absolute  is  the  fir^t  princi- 
ple of  all  things  ;  and  this  absolute  is  not  to  be  conceived  of  as  possessinj^  any  attribute 
at  all— not  even  that  of  existence.  A  system  a  little  less  abstract  is  that  of  the  l-:ieatics, 
who  believed  in  the  absolute  as  existing:.  Then  that  of  Giordano  Pruno,  who  made  soul 
and  matter  the  formative  principle  and  the  principal  recipient  of  forces— to  be  the  ground 
of  the  universe.  Then  Spinoza,  who  postulated  t/wught  as  the  representative  ci  the 
spiritual,  and  extctisw7i  as  that  of  the  material  principle  ;  and  these  together  are  hie 
originaux.  From  thence  sprang  the  spiritual  pantheists— such  as  Schelliuu,  1-ichte,  and 
Ilej^el — and  the  material  jxintheists. 

Wednesday y  April  ici/i. — To-morrow  I  go  to  Andover.  Have  been  indescribably 
hurried  of  late.  Have  finished  Claudius — am  reading  Prometheus  and  Kant's  Critique. 
April  \gt/i. — Am  reading  Seneca's  Medea  and  Southey's  Life  of  Cowper. 

Andover,  Afay  i^^t/t.—Dw  Woods  was  remarking  to-day  at  dinner  on  tlie  influence 
of  liofe  in  sustaining  under  tlie  severest  sufferings.  It  recalled  a  thought  which  occurred 
to  me  the  other  day  in  reading  Prometheus  ;  that,  regarded  as  an  example  of  unyielding 
determination  and  unconquerable  fortitude  he  is  not  equal  to  Milton's  Satan.  For  he 
has  before  him  not  only  the  7/^/^,  but  the  certainty  of  ultimate  deliverance,  whereas 
Satan  "oears  liiraself  up,  by  the  mere  force  of  his  will,  unsustained  by  hope,  "  wh'xh  comes 
to  all,"  but  not  to  him.  15//'. — It  has  just  occurred  to  me  that  the  d(Ktrine  of  the  soul's 
niorla'iity  seems  to  have  no  point  of  contact  with  humanity.  It  surely  can  not  have  been 
entertained  as  being  agreeable  to  man's  wishes.  And  what  is  there  in  the  system  of 
things,  or  in  the  nature  of  the  mind,  to  suggest  it  ?  On  the  contrary,  everything  looks  in 
an  opposite  direction.  How  is  it  possible  to  lielp  seeing  that  the  soul  is  not  here  in  its 
proper  element,  in  its  native  air  }  How  is  it  possible  to  escape  the  conviction  that  all  its 
unsatisfied  yearnings,  its  baffled  aims,  its  restless,  agonizing  aspirings  after  a  somethings 
clearly  perceived  to  exist,  but  to  be  here  unattainable — that  all  these  things  point  lo 
another  life,  the  only  true  life  of  the  soul  >  There  is  such  a  manifest  <lisprop>ortion  be- 
tween all  objects  of  earthly  attainment  and  the  capacities  of  the  spirit,  that,  unless  m.in 
is  immortal,  he  is  vastly  more  to  be  pitied  than  the  meanest  reptile  that  crawls  upon  the 
earth.  So  I  thought  as  I  was  walking  this  morning  and  saw  a  frog  swimming  in  a  pud- 
dle of  water.  I  could  hardly  help  envying  him  when  1  considered  that  his  condition  was 
suited  to  his  nature,  and  that  he  has  no  wants  which  are  not  supplied. 

June  \ilh. — I  am  reading  Goethe's  Conversations  with  Fckermann.  One  thing  I  re- 
mark is  this — he  does  not,  as  most  men  do,  make  the  degree  of  sympathy  he  finds  in 
others  th.e  measure  of  his  interest  in  them  and  attention  to  them.  Goctlie  looked  at  all 
as  specimens  of  human  nature,  and,  therefore,  all  worthy  of  study.  Dut,  after  all,  this 
Mray  of  looking  at  others  seems  to  be  more  suited  to  the  artist  than  to  the  man  ;  aiul  I 
can  not  conceive  of  any  but  a  ver)'  passionless  and  inmiobile  jxii-son  who  could  do  it. 
....  Does  all  nature  furnish  one  type  of  the  soul  .>  If  so,  it  might  be  tlic  ocean  ;  the 
rough,  swelling,  fluctuating,  unsounded  ocean.  Shall  it  ever  rat  f  Rest  f  What  an 
iiifmitc,  mournful  sweetness  in  the  word  !  How  f>crfcctly  sure  I  feci  tlial  my  soul  can 
tever  rest  in  it  self ^  nor  in  anything  of  earth  ;  if  I  find  peace,  it  must  be  in  the  bosou  oi 
God. 

yuly  zd. — The  vul;;ar  proverb,  "  It  never  rains  but  it  ixjurs,"  is  fully  illustrated  in  my 
case.  Last  week  I  would  have  given  half  the  world  for  a  new  btx)k  ;  yesterday  and  to- 
day have  overfloodcd  me.  Mr.  Hubbard  has  sent  me  Prof.  Park's  "German  Selec- 
tions," Pliny,  Ilceren's  Ancient  Greece,  two  volumes  of  the  Biblical  Reposii«)r)-.  and  two 
of  his  own  magazines;  Mr.  Judd  has  sent  me  two  volumes  of  Carlylc,  and  Mr.  Ripley 


550  APPENDIX. 

four  of  Lessing  -all  of  these  must  be  despatched  a  la  hate.  July  5^//.— Last  evening  W£ 
spent  upon  the  Common  witnessing  a  beautiful  exhibition  of  fireworks.  This  morning  I 
have  been  to  Union  wharf  to  see  the  departure  of  some  missionaries.  For  a  few  minutes, 
time  seemed  a  speck  and  eternity  near— but  how  transient  with  me  are  such  impressions  1 
I  am  indulging  myself  too  much  of  late  in  a  sort  of  sentimental  reverie.  Life  and  its 
changes,  the  depths  of  the  soul,  the  fluctuations  of  passion  and  feeling— these  are  the 

subjects  which  attract  my  thoughts  perpetually We  spent  last  evening  at  Richard 

H.  Dana's.  He  does  not  separate  his  intellectual  and  sentimental  tastes  from  his  moral 
convictions  as  I  do— I  mean  that  neither  in  books  nor  men  does  he  fmd  pleasure  unless 
they  are  such  as  his  conscience  approves.  Tuesday,  gi/i. — Have  visited  the  AUston  gal- 
lery and  seen  Rosalie  for  the  last  time  before  going  home.  I  could  not  have  believed  that 
I  should  feel  such  a  pang  at  parting  from  a  picture.  I  did  not  succeed  in  getting  to  the 
galleiy  before  others— but,  no  matter.  I  forgot  the  presence  of  everybody  else  and  sat  for 
an  hour  before  Rosalie  without  moving.  I  took  leave  of  the  other  pictures  mentally,  for 
I  could  not  look.  Farewell,  sweet  Beatrice,  lovely  Inez,  beautiful  Ursulina— dear,  dear 
Rosalie,  farewell ! 

Mo7iday,  15///!.— Yesterday  I  was  happy  ;  to-day  I  am  not  exactly  unhappy,  but  mor- 
bid and  anxious.  I  feel  continually  the  pressure  of  obligation  to  write  something,  in  or- 
der to  contribute  toward  the  support  of  the  family — and  yet,  I  can  not  write.  Mother 
wants  me  to  write  children's  books  ;  Lizzy  wants  me  to  write  a  book  of  Natural  Phi- 
losophy for  schools.  I  wish  I  had  a  "  vocation."  Sabbath.S\.:xj^^  at  home  on  account 
of  the  rain  and  read  one  of  Tholuck's  sermons  to  Julia.  Wrote  in  my  other  journal 
some  account  of  my  thoughts  and  feelings.     Burned  up  part  of  an  old  diary. 

Thursday^  July  25^"//.—"  My  soul  is  dark."  Wliat  with  the  sin  I  find  within  me,  and 
the  darkness  and  error,  disputes  and  peiplexities  around  me,  I  well-nigh  despair. 
Whether  I  seek  to  discover  trath  or  to  live  it,  I  am  equally  unsuccessful,  "  I  grope  at 
noon-day  as  in  the  night."     But  there  is  a  God,  holy  and  changeless.     He  is.     From 

eternity  to  eternity,  He  IS.     On  this  Rock  will  I  rest .     I  stopped  a  moment  and  my 

eye  was  caught  by  the  waving  trees.  What  do  they  say  to  me  ?  How  silent  they  are  ! 
and  yet  how  eloquent !  And  here  I  sit — to  myself  the  centre  of  the  world,  wondering 
and  speculating  about  this  same  little  self.  Do  the  trees  so  ?  No  ;  they  wave  and  bend 
and  bloom  for  others.  I  am  ready  to  join  with  Herbert  in  wishing  that  I  were  a  trop  ; 
then 

"  At  least  some  bird  would  trust 
Her  household  to  me,  and  I  should  be  just." 

Evening. — I  read  to-day  another  of  Lessing's  tragedies — "  Miss  Sarah  Sampson,'* 
which  I  do  not  like  nearly  as  well  as  !Mina  von  Barnhelm.  We  were  engaged  to  take  tea 
with  "the  Mayor,"  and  went  with  many  tremblings  and  hesitations  on  account  of  the 
rain.     Verj'  few  there,  and  a  most  uncommonly  stupid  time. 

Saturday  Evening. — I  have  been  alone  for  a  little  while,  and,  as  usual,  this  time 
brings  with  it  thronging  remembrances  of  absent  friends.  Their  forms  flit  before  me  ; 
their  spirits  aj-e  around  me  ;  I  feel  their  presence — almost ;  dear  friends,  almost  I  clasp 
you  in  my  arms.  My  soul  yearns  for  love  and  sympathy.  I  do  bless  antl  ]Draise  my  God 
for  all  His  gocsdness  to  me  in  this  respect,  for  my  jnany  tender  and  faithful  and  devoted 
friends.  Part  of  the  day  I  spent  in  arranging  shells  in  my  cabinet  of  drawers.  This 
afternoon  I  went  to  Mr.  Prentiss'  library  and  obtained  Schlegel's  Lectures  on  Dramatic 
Art  and  Literature. 

Monday  Mor}ii7ig. — Have  been  trying  to  rouse  myself  to  write  Lessing,  but  can  not. 
It  looks  so  little,  ^\^•len  it  is  all  done,  what  will  it  amount  to  ?  Why,  I  shall  get  a  fe\i 
dollars  for  mother,  which  will  go  to  buy  bread  and  butter — and  that's  the  end  of  it. 

Evening. — S.  W.  and  M.  W.  made  a  call  on  us  and  the  former  plajKid  and  sang 


ArrENDix.  551 

Then  we  sat  up  till  after  eleven  naming:  each  of  our  acquaintances  after  some  flower, 
Au^.  S///.— Oh,  what  a  happy  half  hour  I  had  last  evening:,  looking  at  the  sky  after  sun« 
sot !  We  went  clown  to  the  water — it  was  smooth  as  a  cr)-stal  lake.  The  horizon  was 
all  in  a  glow — the  softest,  mellowest,  warmest  glow,  and  above  dark,  heav\'  clouds  cl 
every  variety  of  form — the  clouds  and  the  glow  alike  reflected  in  the  answering  lieaven 
below— I  was  almost  /vo  happy  ;  but — it  faded.  Evening. — I  had  something  to  wake 
me  up  tliis  afternoon,  viz.,  the  arrival  of  the  July  No.  of  the  New  York  Review,  contain- 
ing "  Claudius."  This  led  to  some  conversation  about  writing,  its  pecuniary  profiiable- 
ness,  subjects  for  it,  etc.  Julia  wished  I  would  take  some  other  topics  besides  German 
authors,  but  when  I  told  her  the  alternative  would  be  metaphysics,  she  laughed  and  re- 
tracted the  wish.  We  then  laughed  over  several  schemes  such  as  these — that  one  of  us 
should  write  a  review  and  another  make  the  book  for  it  afterward  ;  that  I  should  review 
some  book  which  did  not  exist  and  give  professed  extracts  from  it,  etc.  Soon  after  Mrs. 
U.  came  in  and  began  to  talk  about  "  Undine,"  which  she  and  her  husband  have  just 
been  reading — the  new  translation.  I  was  amused  at  their  opinion  of  it.  The  most  ab- 
surd, ridiculous  story,  she  said — with  no  ra(iv?iah'iy,  nothing  tliat  one  can  undcntaud 
in  it — and  so  on,  showing  that  she  had  not  the  slightest  idea  of  a  work  of  fancy  merely. 
I  have  been  wishing,  as  I  often  do,  for  some  records  of  my  past  life.  What  couUl  I  not 
give  for  a  daily  journal  as  minute  as  this,  beginning  from  my  c'niUihood  !  My  past  life  is 
mostly  a  blank  to  me.  Aug.  \^th. — 1  am  beginnmg  to  see  dimly  some  new  truths — 
such  I  believe  them  to  be — in  theolog)'.  I  am  inclined  to  think,  but  do  not  feel  sure, 
that  Redemption,  instead  of  being  merely  a  necessary  remedy  for  a  great  evil,  is  in  itself 
the  highest  positive  good,  and  that  the  state  into  which  it  brings  man,  of  union  with  God, 
is  a  far  nobler  and  better  condition  than  that  of  primitive  innocence,  and  at  the  same 
time  a  condition  attainable  in  no  other  way  than  through  redemption,  and,  of  course, 
through  sin.  In  this  case  the  plan  of  redemption,  instead  of  being  an  ajterthought  of 
the  divine  mind  (speaking  anthrooomorpiiically),  is  that  in  reference  to  which  ih.e  whole 
world-system  was  contrived.  These  thoughts  were  partly  suggested  by  reading  Schleier- 
niacher,  who,  if  I  understand  him,  has  some  sucli  notions.  If  there  is  any  truth  in  them, 
do  they  not  throw  light  on  the  much-ve.\ed  question  why  God  permitted  the  intrtxJuciion 
of  moral  evil  ?  Another  point  which  I  feel  confident  is  misunderstood  by  our  theologians 
is  the  nature  of  the  redemptive  act.  The  work  of  Christ  in  redemption  is  generally  ex- 
plained to  be  His  incarnation,  sutTerings,  and  death,  by  which  He  made  atoncnunt  to 
justice  for  the  sins  of  the  world.  This,  it  is  tioic,  is  a  part  of  what  He  did  ;  it  is  tliat  part 
which  He  performed  in  reference  to  God  and  His  law,  but  it  is  not  wliat  Coleridge  calls 
the  "  spiritual  and  transcendent  act"  by  which  He  made  us  one  with  Himself,  and  thus 
secured  the  possibihty  of  our  restoration  to  spiritual  life.  Aug.  \-//{. — Have  devoted 
almost  tlie  whole  day  to  Coleridge's  Literary  Remains,  which  Mr.  Davenport  brought 
me.  My  admiration,  even  veneration,  for  his  almost  unequalled  power  is  greater  than 
ever,  but  I  can  not  help  thinking  that  his  studies — some  of  them — exerted  an  unfavorable 
influence  upon  him,  especially,  perhaps,  Spinoza.  Aug.  22^. — Mr.  Park  sent  me  the 
Life  of  Mackintosh  by  his  son.  I  rejoiced  much  too  soon  over  it,  for  it  proves  very  unin- 
teresting. This  is  partly  to  be  accounted  for  from  my  want  of  interest  in  politics,  etc.  In 
great  measure,  however,  it  is  the  fault  of  the  biographer,  who  has  shown  us  the  nian  at  a 
distance,  on  stilts,  or  at  best  only  in  his  most  outward  circumsLviccs,  never  letting  us 
know,  as  Carlyle  says,  what  sort  of  stockings  he  wore,  and  what  he  ate  for  dinner.  I 
don't  think  Sir  James  himself  has  much  imvardtiess  to  him,  but  certainly  his  son  has 
sho'«<M  us  only  the  outermost  shell.  Have  re.nd  the  Iliad  and  Schleicrniachcr  to-day. 
Au^.  "z^th. — A  queer  circumstance  happened  this  evening.  Col.  Kinsman  and  Mr.  C. 
S.  Davies  called.  I  was  considering  what  unusual  occurrence  could  have  brought  Mr.  D. 
here,  when  he  increased  my  wonflcr  still  more  by  disclosing  his  errand.  He  had  received, 
be  said,  a  letter  from  Prof.  W(>«j«Js,  requesting  that  I,  or  a  "  lady  whose  laile  was  as  con- 


552  APPENDIX. 

rect  in  dress  as  in  literature,"  -would  decide  upon  the  fashion  of  a  gown  to  be  worn  by 
him  at  his  inauguration  as  President  of  Bowdoin  College,  and  forthwith  procure  such  a 
gown  to  be  made.  Aze^.  25M. — I  have  been  reading  the  second  volume  of  Mackintosh, 
which  is  much  better  than  the  first,  and  gives  a  higher  opinion  of  him.  He  is  certainly 
well  described  by  Coleridge  as  the  **  king  of  men  of  talent."  It  is  curious,  by  the  way, 
to  compare  what  M.  says  of  C.  :  "It  is  impossible  to  give  a  stronger  example  of  a  man, 
whose  talents  are  beneath  his  understanding,  and  who  trusts  to  his  ingenuity  to  atone  foi 

his  ignorance Shakespeare  and  Burke  are,  if  I  may  venture  on  the  expression, 

above  talent ;  but  Coleridge  is  not !  "    Ah,  well— cfe  gustibtis,  etc. 

I  have  been  as  busy  as  a  bee  all  day ;  wrote  notes,  prepared  for  leaving  home,  read 
Sohleiermacher,  and  Philip  von  Artevelde,  which  delighted  me ;  walked  after  tea  with 
Lizzy,  then  examined  my  papers  to  see  what  is  to  be  burned.  I  wish  I  knew  what  I  was 
made  for — I  mean,  in  pai-ticular — what  I  can  do,  and  what  I  ought  to  do.  I  can  not 
bear  to  live  a  life  of  literary  self-indulgence,  which  is  no  better  than  another  self-indul- 
gence. I  do  want  to  be  of  some  use  in  the  world,  but  I  am  infinitely  perplexed  as  to  the 
how  and  the  what.  Aug.  26th. — Hurried  through  the  last  200  pages  of  Mackintosh  to- 
day. On  the  whole,  there  is  much  to  like  as  well  as  to  admire  in  him.  One  thing  puz- 
zles me  in  his  case  as  in  others  :  How  men  who  give  no  signs  through  a  long  life  of  any- 
thing more  than  the  most  cold  and  distant  respect  for  religion — ^the  most  unfrequent  and 
uninterested  remembrance,  if  any  at  all — of  the  Saviour,  all  at  once  become  so  devout — 
I  mean  it  not  disrespectfully — on  their  death-beds.  What  strange  doubts  this  and  other 
like  mysteries  suggest ! 

After  tea  I  carried  a  bouquet  to  Mrs.  French.  Saw  all  the  way  a  slcy  so  magnificent 
that  words  can  do  no  justice  to  it — splendors  piled  on  splendors,  till  my  soul  was  fairly 
sick  with  admiration.  Mrs.  French  asked  me  if  life  ever  looked  sad  and  wearisome  ta 
me.     Ever/ 

Boston,  Saturday  mornings  Sept.  ^th. — The  rain  keeps  me  home  from  church,  but 
I  still  have  the  more  time  for  reading  and  reflection.  At  every  change  in  my  outward  situ- 
ation I  find  myself  forming  new  purposes  and  plans  for  the  future I  will  trust 

that,  by  the  grace  of  God,  the  ensuing  winter  shall  be  a  period  of  more  vigorous  effort 
and  more  persevering  self-culture  than  any  previous  season  of  my  life.  Above  all,  let  me 
remember  that  intellectual  culture  is  worthless  when  dissociated  from  moral  progress ; 
that  true  spiritual  growth  embraces  both  ;  and  the  latter  as  the  basis  and  mould  of  the  for- 
mer. Let  me  remember,  too,  that  in  the  universe  everything  may  be  had  for  a  price,  but 
nothing  can  be  had  without  price.  The  price  of  successful  self-culture  is  unremitted  toil, 
labor,  and  self-denial ;  am  I  willing  to  pay  it  ?  I  feel  that  I  need  light  and  strength  and 
life  ;  may  I  find  them  in  Christ/  As  to  studies,  I  mean  to  study  the  Bible  much  ;  also 
rogmatic  theology — which  of  late  has  an  increasing  interest  for  me — and  ecclesiastical 
history.     To  the  Spirit  of  all  Truth  I  surrender  my  mind. 

Moftday. — I  have  fallen  in  with  Swedenborg's  writings.  Wonder  whether  the  destiny 
which  seems  to  bring  to  us  just  what  we  chance  to  be  interested  in  is  a  real  ordinance  of 
fate  or  only  a  seeming  one — because  interest  in  a  subject  makes  us  observant.  Am  read- 
ing Greek  with  Julia.  We  began  the  sixth  book  of  the  Iliad.  Tuesday. — Fifty  lines  in 
Homer  ;  Companion  proofs  ;  Schleiermacher ;  the  prologue  and  first  scene  of  Terence's 
comedy  of  Andria ;  two  Nos.  of  N.  Nickleby,'and  walked  round  the  Common  wath  Ju- 
\\k  twice.  Wednesday. — Studies  the  same  as  yesterday,  except  that  I  read  less  of  Schlei- 
arinacher  and  spent  an  hour  or  so  upon  Lessing.  Read  "  Much  Ado  about  Nothing," 
and  disliked  Beatrice  less  than  ever  before.  But  I  am  not  satisfied  with  Claudio  ;  he  is 
not  half  sorry  and  remorseful  enough  for  the  supposed  death  of  Hero — and  then  to  think 
of  his  being  willing  to  marry  another  right  off !  Oh,  it  is  abominable  !  Walked  ovel 
Af2tr  miles  in  the  morning,  and  out  again  before  tea. 

Tuesday^  Sept.  17///.— Well.    The  family  are  off— Mr.  and  Mrs.  Willis,  and  Julia 


APPENDIX.  553 

too — and  the  Recorder  and  Companion'  are  left  for  a  fortnip:lit  in  my  charp^e.  I  haw 
been  much  interested  in  what  1  have  read  to-day  in  Schlciermacher.  It  is  hi«  evolulior 
of  th«  idea  of  God — if  I  may  so  say — from  holy,  human  consciousness.  It  recills  some 
thouj^hts  which  1  had  on  this  subject  mice  bcf»jre,  and  which  I  began  to  write  about. 
My  notion  was  this — that  an  absolutely  perfect  idea  of  n  an  implies,  contains  an  idea  of 
God.  I  have  a  great  mind  to  try  and  make  something  out  of  it,  only  I  am  so  hurried 
just  now.  They  keep  sending  me  papers  to  make  selections  Un  the  Recorder,  and  I  have 
just  been  writiiii::  an  article  for  the  Companion.  I  spend  half  my  time  looking  over  news- 
papers. Double,  double  toil  and  trouble ;  most  wearisome  and  profitless.  Would  nol 
edit  a  paper  for  the  world. 

No  truth  can  be  said  to  be  seen  as//  iV until  it  is  seen  in  its  relation  to  all  other  truth*. 

In  this  relation  only  is  it  true No  error  is  understood  till  we  have  seen  all  th« 

truth  there  is  in  it,  and,  therefore,  as  Coleridge  says,  you  must  "understand  an  author's 
ignorance,  or  conclude  yourself  ignorant  of  his  understanding." 

J/ojic^ay,  30///. — I  have  been  very  happy  this  afternoon— writing  all  the  lime  with  a 
genial  flow  of  thought  and  without  effort.  How  1  love  to  feel  that  for  this  I  am  indebted 
to  God.  He  is  my  inlelleciual  source,  the  l-'ather  of  my  spirit,  as  well  as  the  author  of 
everytliing  morally  good  in  me. 

Friday,  Oct.  a^tJi. — I  liave  been  too  busy  reading  and  writing  for  the  la^-t  few  days  to 
find  lime  for  my  journal.  I  go  on  with  Schleiermacher  and  have  resumed  Lessing.  I 
am  reading  the  Memoir  of  Mrs.  S.  L.  Smith  and  Tappan's  "  Review  of  Ldwards  on  the 
Will."  Fifty  lines  in  the  Iliad  with  Julia.  1-inished  the  Andria  and  to-day  began  the 
Adelphi.  I  am  amused  at  comparing  the  comedy  of  that  day  with  the  modern  Irench 
schooL  Davus  in  Andria  is  but  a  rough  sketch  of  Moliere's  valet,  and  the  whole  plot  H 
so  bungling  in  comparison.  Have  had  ver)'  few  attacks  of  melancholy  lately  ;  because,  I 
suppose,  my  health  is  good  and  I  am  constantly  employed. 

Evc7iing.  — I  never  came  nearer  losing  my  wits  with  delight  than  this  afternoon.  Wtrnl 
to  call  on  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ripley,  and  saw  his  fine  library  of  German  books.  The  siphi 
was  enough  to  excite  me  to  the  utmost,  but  to  be  told  that  they  were  all  at  my  ser\'ice  put 
me  into  such  an  ecstasy  that  I  could  hardly  beb.ave  with  decency.  1  selected  scvci-aJ  im- 
mediately and  promised  myself  fuller  examination  of  the  librar)' very  soon Mr.  R. 

proposed  to  me  to  translate  something  for  his  series.     Shall  I  ? ' 

Sabbath  Evening,  Oct.  i^/t. — I  have  just  been  writing  to  my  dear  brother  G.,  foi 
whom  as  well  as  for  my  other  brothers,  I  feel  the  greatest  solicitude.  I  have  separate 
sources  of  anxiety  for  each  of  them,  and  hope  that  the  intenseness  of  this  au.xit-ty  will 
make  me  more  earnest  in  commending  them  to  God.  Oct.  i^th. — Gave  up  the  time 
usually  devoted  to  Lessing  to  writing  twa  articles  for  the  Mother's  Magazine.  Read 
Homer,  and  the  149th  and  150th  Psalms  and  tlie  first  ch.apter  of  Genesis  in   Hebrew. 

'  The  Boston  Recorder  and  the  The  Youth's  Comi>ar.ion. 

»  The  late  George  Ripley,  the  eminent  scholar  and  critic,  is  referred  to.  In  :\  letter,  dairj 
New  York,  Nov.  20,  1879,  Mr.  Ripley  writes: 

"  I  beg  you  to  accept,  dear  Dr.  Prcnti'ss,  my  most  cordial  thanks  for  your  kindness  in  sending 
me  the  extract  from  Miss  Payson's  journal.  I  remember  perfectly  the  visits  of  the  young  Gcr- 
man  enthusiast  to  my  house  in  Boston  .ind  the  great  pleasure  they  always  jpive  to  my  \»ife  an  I 
myself.  My  .icquaintancc  with  her,  I  think,  w.-is  through  Mr.  Tappan's  family,  of  which  yncr 
former  parishior.cr  and  my  dear  friend  and  classmate,  Thomxs  Denny,  afterward  became  a  mim- 
i>€r.  \Vi:h  my  infatuation  for  New  Kngland  people  and  New  England  biography  and  genealogy 
and  literary  endeavor,  it  would  give  mc  great  delight  to  be  permitted  to  »ec  Min  I'ayjon'i 
Journal." 

'Jlie  journal  '.vas  sent  to  I)r.  viplcy  and  read  by  him  with  great  plea^i:re  The  incident  led  fo 
the  renewal  of  an  old  acqu»ini..ncc  and  to  repealed  visits  at  his  rcT»i«Jcncc— one  «ihortly  bcfor* 
his  death— wliich  left  upon  the  writer  a  strong  impression  of  his  deep  interest  in  theological  .-u>4 
religious  iruili,  .is  well  as  of  his  genial  temper  and  remark  ibic  literary  accompli&hiaents. 


554  APPENDIX. 

Read  or  rather  studied  Schleiermacher.  Corrected  proof.  Read  several  articlei 
in  the  Biblical  Repository— one  by  Prof.  Park— aloud  to  Julia.  On  the  whole,  I  hava 
been  pretty  industrious.  Oh,  how  many  reasons  I  have  for  gratitude  1  Health,  friends, 
books— nothing  is  wanting  but  the  heart  to  enjoy  God  in  all.     Wrote  to  mother. 

Oct.  17//^— This  morning  dear  Lizzy  came  ;  of  course  the  day  has  been  given  up  tc 
miscellanies. 

Oct.  2IJ-/.— Mr.  Albro^  called  and  stayed  till  dinner-time.  After  dinner  read  Greek 
with  Julia  and  then  wrote  a  notice  of  Gesenius'  Hebrew  Grammar,  and  then  set  off  for 
Lucy's,  where  the  others  were  already  gone.  Mr.  Albro  has  concluded  to  read  Schleier- 
macher with  me— that  is,  to  keep  along  at  the  same  rate,  that  we  may  talk  about  it.  Letter 
from  mother,  and  notes  from  Mr.  Condit  and  Mr.  Hamlin,  with  a  copy  of  "  Payson's 
Thoughts  "  in  Armenian.  Have  just  finished  reading  ]\Ir.  Ripley's  Reply  to  Mr.  Norton. 
Mr.  Willis  is  forming  a  Bi'ole-class  for  me  to  teach  on  the  Sabbath— am  very  glad. 

Nov.  14///.  —Finished  Lessing  yesterday,  and  hope  for  a  Httle  rest  from  hurry.  Shall 
resume  Schleiermacher  and  take  up  Fichte  on  the  Destination  of  Man. 

Nov.  Q.'zd. — I  am  afraid  that  I  may  have  to  be  resigned  to  a  very  great  misfortune  ; 
namely,  to  the  partial  loss  of  eyesight— for  a  time  at  least;  so  yesterday  I  resolved 
to  give  them  a  holiday,  though  sorely  against  my  will,  by  not  opening  a  book  the  whole 
day.  Whether  I  should  have  succeeded  in  observing  such  a  desperate  resolution  without 
the  aid  of  circumstances  is  quite  problematical,  but  Mr.  Gray  opportunely  came  with  a 
request  that  I  should  take  a  ride  with  him  to  Cambridge,  and  visit  the  libraries  there.  This 
occupied  four  or  five  hours,  and  a  lyceum  lecture  provided  for  the  evening.  I  hava 
always  congratulated  myself  on.  being  so  little  dependent  on  othcis  for  entertainment — 
but  never  considered  how  entirely  I  am  dependent  on  hooks.  If  I  should  be  deprived  of 
the  use  of  my  eyes,  I  should  be  a  most  miserable  creature. 

Thanksgivings  Nov.  2^1  Ii. — A  vcr}'  pleasant  and  deUghtful  day — our  hearts  full  of 
gladness  and,  I  hope,  of  gratitude.     I  hope  dear  mother  and  all  at  home  are  as  happy. 

Dec.  25///.— How  plain  that  all  the  creations  of  the  ancient  m.ythology  are  but  representa- 
tions of  sometliing  in  the  heart  of  man  !  .  .  .  .  What  is  the  end  of  man  ?  Infinite  con- 
tradictions— all  opposites  blended  into  one — a  mass  of  confused,  broken  parts,  of  disjointed 
fragments — such  is  he.  The  circumstances  that  surround  him — the  events  that  happen 
unto  him,  are  no  less  strange.  What  shall  be  the  end  .>  Oh  then,  abyss  of  futurity,  de- 
clare it !  unfold  thy  dark  depths — let  a  voice  come  up  from  ihy  cloudy  infinite — let  a  ray 
penetrate  thy  unfathomable  profound.  If  we  could  but  rest  till  the  question  is  decided  ! 
if  we  could  but  float  softly  on  the  current  of  time  tiU  we  reach  th.e  haven  !  But  no,  we 
must  act.    We  must  do  something.     /  must  do  something  7iow — What  ? 

Evening. — But  as  the  morning.  In  the  afternoon  I  was  talking  with  L.  W.-  with 
as  much  eagerness  and  vivacity  as  if  I  had  nevei"  known  a  cloud.  This  evening  I  was 
going  to  a  dance  at  the  Itisane  Hospital.  For  me  truly  it  has  been  a  day  of  opposites — 
all  the  elements  of  life  have  met  and  mingled  in  it. 

Wednesday s  -z^t/t. — The  end  of  man,  says  Carlyle,  is  an  action,  not  a  thought.  This 
is  partly  true,  though  all  noble  action  has  its  root  in  thought.  Thought,  indeed,  in  its 
true  and  highest  sense,  is  action.  It  is  never  lost.  If  uttered,  it  may  breathe  inspiration 
into  a  thousand  minds  and  become  the  impulse  to  ten  thousand  good  actions.  If  un- 
uttered,  and  terminating  in  no  single  outward  act,  it  yet  has  an  emanative  influence  ;  it 
impregnates  the  man  and  makes  itself  felt  in  his  life.  A  man  can  not  do  so  noble  and 
g;odlikc  a  thing  as  to  think,  without  being  the  better  for  it.  Indeed,  the  distinction  be- 
t^veen  thouglit  and  action  is  not  always  an  accurate  one.  Many  thoughts  deserve  the 
uame  of  activities  much  better  than  certain  movements  of  tlie  muscles  and  changes  of  the 

>  The  late  Rev.  John  Adams  Albro,  D.D.,  of  Cambridge. 

"  Leonard  Woods,  Jr.,  D.D.,  then  President  of  Bowdoin  College. 


APPENDIX.  555 

5utward  orgfauization  which  we  denominate  actions.     In  this  sen?e,  it  is  better  of  the  twc 
.o  think  wi<hout  acting  than  to  act  without  thinking:. 

Mrs.  Hopkins  was  the  author  of  the  following  works,  intended  mostlj 
for  the  young.  Some  of  them  have  had  a  wide  circulation.  They  are 
written  in  an  attractive  style  and  breathe  the  purest  spirit  of  Christian  love 
and  wisdom:  i.  The  Pastor's  Daughter.  2.  Lessons  on  the  Book  of 
Proverbs.  3.  The  Young  Christian  Encouraged.  4.  Henry  Langdon  ;  Oi, 
What  Was  T  Made  For?  5.  The  Guiding  Star;  or,  The  Bible  God's 
Message ;  a  Sequel  to  Heniy  Langdon.  6.  The  Silent  Comforter  ;  a  Com- 
panion for  the  Sick-room.     A  Compilation. 


E. 

The  following  is  the  rhapsody  referred  to  by  Mr.  Butler : 
[The  words  to  be  used  were  Mosquito,  Brigadier,  Moon,  Cathedral,  Lo- 
comotive, Piano,  Mountain,  Candle,  Lemon,  Worsted,  Charily,  and  Sur- 
Cfi^s\ 

A  wounded  soldier  on  the  ground  in  helpless  languor  lay, 
Unheeding  in  his  weariness  the  tumult  of  the  day  ; 
In  vain  a  pert  viosquilo  buzzed  madly  in  his  ear, 

His  thoughts  were  far  away  from  earth— its  scjunds  he  could  not  hear ; 
Nor  noted  he  the  kindly  glance  with  wliich  his  brigadier 
Looked  down  upon  his  manly  form  when  chance  had  brought  him  near. 
It  was  a  glorious  autumn  night  on  which  the  moon  looked  down, 
Calmly  she  looked  and  her  fair  face  had  neither  grief  nor  frown. 
Just  as  she  gazed  in  other  lands  on  some  catJtedral  dim, 
Whose  aisles  resounded  to  the  strains  of  dirges  or  of  hymn. 
But  now  with  locomotive  speed  the  soldier's  thoughts  took  wing  : 
Back  to  his  home  they  bore  him,  and  he  heard  his  sisters  sing- 
Heard  the  softest-toned  piano  touched  by  hands  he  used  to  love. 
Was  it  horr-'  or  was  it  heaven  ?    Was  that  music  from  above  ? 
Oh,  for  one  place  or  the  other  !    In  his  mountain  air  to  die, 
Once  more  upon  hii  mother's  breast,  as  in  infancy,  to  lie  1 

The  scene  has  changed.     Where  is  he  now  ?     Not  on  the  cold,  damp  ground 

Whence  came  this  couch  ?  and  who  are  they  who  smiling  sUi.d  around  ? 

What  friendly  hands  have  borne  him  to  liis  own  free  mountain  air  ? 

And  father,  mother,  sisters— every  one  of  them  is  there. 

Now  gentle  ministries  of  love  may  soothe  him  in  his  pain  ; 

Water  to  cool  hii  fevered  lips  he  need  not  ask  in  vain. 

His  mother  shades  the  candle  when  she  steals  across  the  room  ; 

A  face  like  hers  would  radiant  make  a  very  desert's  gloom. 

The  fragrant  lemon  cools  his  thirst,  pressed  by  his  i^ister's  hand  — 

Not  one  can  do  enough  for  him,  the  hero  of  their  band. 


5S<5  APPENDIX. 

Oh,  happy,  convalescing  days  !     How  full  of  pleasant  pain  ! 

How  pleasant  to  take  up  the  old,  the  dear  old  Hfe  again  ! 

Now,  sitting  on  the  wooden  bench  before  the  cottage  door, 

How  many  times  they  make  him  tell  the  same  old  story  o'er  ! 

How  he  fought  and  how  he  fell ;  how  he  longed  again  to  fight ; 

And  how  he  would  die  fighting  yet  for  the  triumph  of  the  right. 

His  good  old  mother  sits  all  day  so  fondly  by  his  side  ; 

How  can  she  give  him  up  again — her  first-bom  son,  her  pride  ? 

His  sisters  with  their  worsfcd  his  stockings  fashion  too. 

In  patriotic  colors — the  red,  the  white,  the  blue. 

If  he  should  never  wear  them,  a  charity  'twill  be 

To  give  them  to  some  soldier-lad  as  brave  and  good  as  he. 

They're  dreadful  homely  stockings  ;  one  can  not  well  say  less, 

But  whosoever  wears  'era — why,  may  he  have  success  I 

Here  are  samples  of  the  charades  referred  to  by  Miss  Morse; 
ON  RETURNING  A  LOST  GLOVE  TO  A  FRIEND. 

MARCH,  1873. 

A  hand  I  am  not,  yet  have  fingers  five ; 
Alive  I  am  not,  yet  was  once  alive. 
Am  found  in  every  house  and  by  the  dozen 
And  am  of  fiesh  and  blood  a  sort  of  cousin. 
Now  cut  my  head  off.     See  what  I  become  1 
No  longer  am  I  lifeless,  dead,  and  dumb. 
I  am  the  veiy  sweetest  thing  on  earth  ; 
Royal  in  power  and  of  royal  birth. 
I  in  the  palace  reign  and  in  the  cot — 
There  is  no  place  where  man  is  and  I'm  not. 
I  am  too  costly  to  be  bought  and  sold  ; 
I  can  not  be  enticed  by  piles  of  gold. 
And  yet  I  am  so  lowly  that  a  smile 
Can  woo  and  win  me — and  so  free  from  guile, 
That  I  look  forth  from  many  a  gentle  face 
In  tenderness  and  truthfulness  and  grace. 

Say,  do  you  know  me  >    Have  you  known  my  reign  ? 
My  joy,  my  rapture,  and  my  silent  pain  > 
Beneath  your  pillow  have  I  roses  placed — 
Your  heart's  glad  festival  have  I  not  graced  ? 
Ah  me  !     To  mother,  lover,  husband,  wife 
I  am  the  oil  and  1  the  wine  of  life. 
With  you,  my  dear,  I  have  been  hand  and  glove. 
Shall  I  return  the  first  and  keep  the  Love  ? 

CHARADE. 
y^^  first  was  born  to  rule  ;  before  him  stand 
The  potentates  and  nobles  of  the  land. 
He  loves  his  grandeur— hopes  to  be  more  grand. 

My  second  you  will  find  in  every  lass — 
Both  in  the  highest  and  the  lowest  class, 
And  even  in  a  simple  blade  of  grass. 


APPENDIX.  557 


But  add  it  to  my  prst^  and  straif^htway  he 

Becomes  my  zv/iole — loses  identity  ; 

Parlii  with  his  iiianhotxJ  and  becomes  a  She. 


(Prince,  ss..  Princess). 


F. 

Here  is  another  extract  from  the  same  letter: 

J'  ai  peine  i.  me  mettre  d  Toraison,  et  quelquefois  quand  j'y  suis  il  me  tarde  d'en  sortir, 
Je  n'y  fais,  ce  me  senible,  prcsque  rien.  Je  me  trouve  mcnie  dans  une  certaine  ticdeur 
et  uiie  tdchete  pour  toutes  series  de  biens.  Je  n'ai  aucune  peine  considerable  .li  dana 
men  interieur,  ni  dans  mon  exterieur,  ainsi  je  ne  saurois  dire  que  je  passe  par  aucune 
epreuve.  II  me  semble  que  c'est  un  songc,  ou  que  je  me  moque  quand  je  cherche  mon 
6tat  tant  je  me  trouve  hors  de  tout  etat  spirituel,  dans  la  vole  commune  des  R:ens  licdes 
qui  viveiit  i  leur  aise.  Cependant  cette  languer  universelle  jointe  d  I'abandon  qui  me 
fait  acceptes  tout  et  qui  m'  empeclie  de  rien  rechercher,  ne  laisse  pas  de  m'  abattre,  ct  je 
sens  que  j'ai  quelquefois  besoin  de  donner  d  mes  sens  quelque  amusement  pour  m'etjaycr. 
Aussi  le  fais— je  simplement,  mais  bien  mieux  quand  je  suis  seul  que  quand  jc  suis  avec 
mes  meilleurs  amis.  Quand  je  suis  seul,  je  jouc  quelquefois  oommc  un  petit  enfant,  etc., 
cic. 

The  letter  may  be  found  in  Vol.  V.,  pp.  41 1- 12,  of  Maclame  Guyon's 
Lkitres  Chrktiennes  et  S?lRlv\JV.Ll.'e.S  sur  (fhu-rs  Siiji'ts  gut  re<^ar(i' 
cut  La  Vie  Intcricurc,  ou  Lcsprit  du  vrai  Chrhtianisme — enrichie  de  la 
Correspondance  secrette  de  MR.  DE  Fenelon  avec  PAuteur.  London, 
1768.     The  whole  work  is  extremely  interesting. 


G. 

[From  The  Evantjelist  of  May  27,  1S75.] 
IN    MEMORIAM. 

Died  in  Taris.  Frana-,  May  8.  1875,  Virginia  S.  Oshorn,  only  dniii^h- 
ter  of  William  H.  and  Vir^Mnia  S.  Osborn,  of  this  city,  and  gtnnddauiihtt-r 
of  the  late  Jonathan  .'"turgt-s. 

Thci  sudden  death  of  this  pifted  youn.c:  girl  has  overwhelmed  with  grid 
y  large  social  and  domestic  circle.  Last  Februar)',  in  perfect  health  and 
lull  of  the  brightest  anticipations,  she  set  out.  in  cnmi)any  witii  her  parenta 
and  a  young  friend,  nn  a  brief  foreign  tour.  After  passing  several  weeks  at 
Rome  and  \isiting  oilur  famous  cities  of  It.dy,  she  iiad  ju.sl  reached  Paris 
on   tlic  way  home  when  .1  violent   lever  bcued  upun  her  brain,  and,  in  defi- 


558  APPENDIX. 

ance  of  the  tenderest  parental  care  and  the  best  medical  skill,  hurried  hei 
into  the  unseen  world. 

And  yet  it  is  hardly  possible  to  realise  that  this  brilliant  young  life  has 
forever  vanished  away  from  earth,  for  she  seemed  formed  alike  by  nature 
and  Providence  for  length  of  days.  Already  her  character  gave  the  fairest 
promise  of  a  perfect  woman.  It  possessed  a  strength  and  maturity  beyond 
her  years.  Although  not  yet  twenty-one,  her  varied  mental  culture  and  her 
knowledge  of  almost  every  branch  of  English  literature,  history,  poetry,  fic- 
tion, even  physical  science,  were  quite  remarkable ;  nor  was  she  ignorant 
of  some  of  the  best  French  and  German,  not  to  speak  of  Latin,  authors. 
We  have  never  known  one  of  her  age  whose  intellectual  tastes  were  of  a 
higher  order.  She  seemed  to  feel  equally  at  home  in  reading  Shakespeare 
and  Goethe;  Prescott,  Motley,  and  Froude  ;  Mrs.  Austin,  Scott,  and  Dick, 
ens;  Taine,  Huxley,  and  Tyndall ;  or  the  popular  biographies  and  fictions 
of  the  day.  And  yet  her  studious  habits  and  devotion  to  books  did  not  ren- 
der her  any  the  less  the  unaffected,  attractive,  and  whole-hearted  girl.  Her 
friends,  both  old  and  young,  greatly  admired  her,  but  they  loved  her  still 
more.  As  was  natural  in  one  ot  so  much  character,  she  was  very  decided 
in  her  ways  ;  but  she  was  also  perfectly  frank,  truthful,  and  conscientious- 
resembling  in  this  respect,  as  she  did  in  some  other  excellent  traits,  her 
honored  grandfather,  Mr.  Sturges. 

Several  years  before  her  death  she  was  enrolled  among  the  disciples  of 
Jesus.  How  vividly  the  writer  recalls  her  earnest  look  and  tones  of  voice 
when  she  declared  to  him  her  desire  publicly  to  confess  her  Saviour  and  to 
remember  Him  at  His  table !  When  from  beneath  the  deep  sea  the  news 
that  she  was  dangerously  ill  and  then  soon  after  that  she  was  dead  stole 
upon  her  friends  here  like  a  thief  in  the  night,  almost  stunning  them  with 
grief;  their  first  feeling  was  one  of  tender  sympathy  for  the  desolate,  sorely- 
smitten  parents,  and  of  prayer  that  God  would  be  pleased  to  comfort  and 
uphold  ^them  in  their  affliction. 

From  many  hearts,  we  are  sure,  that  prayer  has  been  offered  up  often- 
times since.  U  it  were  not  for  the  relief  which  comes  of  faith  and  prayer, 
what  a  cloud  of  hopeless  gloom  would  enshroud  such  an  event !  Blessed 
be  God  for  this  exceeding  great  and  precious  relief.  The  dark  cloud  is  not 
indeed  dispersed  even  by  faith  and  prayer,  but  with  what  a  silver  lining 
they  are  able  to  invest  it!  If  we  really  believed  that  such  tragical  events 
are  solely  the  effects  of  chance  or  mere  natural  law— if  we  did  not  believe 
that  the  hand  of  infinite  wisdom  and  love  is  also  in  them,  surely  the  grass 
would  turn  black  beneath  our  feet.  T/ie  Lord  i^ave  ;  the  Lord  hath  taken 
away  ;  a?id  Messed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord.  G.  L.  P. 


APPENDIX.  559 

H. 

On  Sunday  afternoon,  No7>.  3,  after  the  return  of  the  family  to  Ne7U  York 
a  iouchini^  Diemorial  service  was  Iiehi  in  the  Church  of  the  Cin'enant 
Dr.  \Vm.  Adams  and  Dr.  Stearns  conducted  the  dei>otional  exercises 
and  the  pastor.  Dr.  Vincent,  preached  the  sermon.  The  foHo'iUing  an 
extracts  from  this  discritninatim^  and  itnpressiic  discourse  : 

The  men  and  women  who  know  how  to  comfort  human  sorrow,  and  to 
teach  their  fellows  to  turn  it  to  its  hit,dicst  uses,  are  among  God's  best  gifts 
to  the  world.  The  office  and  the  name  of  Comforter  have  the  liighest  and 
purest  associations.  It  is  the  Holy  Spirit  of  God  who  calls  Himself  by  that 
name,  and  to  be  a  true  comforter  is  to  be  indeed  a  co-worker  with  God. 
But  even  as  the  word  "  comfort  "  goes  deeper  than  those  pitying  common- 
places which  even  nature  teaches  us  to  utter  to  those  who  arc  in  any  trouble, 
so  the  o^ce  of  a  true  comforter  requires  other  qualifications  than  mere  nat- 
ural tenderness  of  heart,  or  even  the  experience  of  suffering.  One  must 
know  how  to  interpret  as  well  as  how  to /<;'d'/ sorrow  ;  must  know  \\s>lessoni 
as  well  as  its  smart.  Hence  it  is  that  God  makes  His  comforters  by  pro- 
cesses of  His  own  ;  by  hard  masters  ofttimes,  and  by  lessons  not  to  be 
found  in  books. 

It  is  in  illustration  of  this  truth  that  I  bring  to  you  to-day  some  memo- 
rials of  the  experience,  character,  and  life-work  of  one  widely  known,  deeply 
beloved,  and  greatly  honored  by  God  as  an  instrument  of  Christian  instruc- 
tion and  of  Christian  comfort.  It  would,  indeed,  be  possible  to  strike  some 
other  keynote.  A  character  presenting  so  many  points  of  interest  might  be 
studied  from  more  than  one  of  those  points  with  both  pleasure  and  profit ; 
but,  on  the  whole,  it  seems  to  me  that  the  thought  of  a  Christian  comforttT 
best  concentrates  the  lessons  of  her  life,  and  best  represents  her  mission  to 
society  ;  so  that  we  might  aptly  choose  for  our  motto  those  beautiful  words 
of  the  Apostle  :  "  Blessed  be  God,  even  the  Father  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ, 
the  Father  of  mercies,  and  the  God  of  all  comfort,  who  comfortelh  us  in  all 
our  tribulation,  that  we  may  be  able  to  comfort  them  which  are  in  any 
trouble  by  the  comfort  wherewith  we  ourselves  are  comforted  of  God." 

In  endeavoring  to  depict  a  life  which  was  largely  shaped  by  sorrow, 
1  am  not  going  to  open  the  record  of  a  sorrowful  life,  but  rather  of  a 
joyful  one  ;  not  of  a  starved  and  meager  life,  but  of  a  very  rich  one,  both  in 
itself  and  in  its  fruits  ;  yet  it  may  be  i)rofitable  for  us  to  see  through  what 
kind  of  discipline  that  life  became  so  rich,  and  to  strike  some  of  the  springs 
where  arose  the  waters  which  refreshed  so  many  of  the  children  of  pain 

and  care. 

The  daughter  of  Kdward  Taysnn  might  justly  have  appropriated  her 
father's  words  :  "  Thanks  to  the  fervent,  effectual  prayers  of  my  righteous 
parents,  and  the  tender  mercies  of  my  God  upon  me.  1  have  reason  to  hojHi 
that  the  i)ious  wishes  breathed  uvir  my  infant  heail  are  in  bomc  measure 
fuliilled."     She  might  have  :>aid  with  Cuwper : 


560  APPENDIX. 

*'  My  boast  is  not  that  I  deduce  my  birth 
From  loins  enthroned  and  rulers  of  the  earth  ; 
But  higher  far  my  proud  pretensions  rise  ; 
The  child  of  parents  passed  into  the  skies." 

The  life  and  work  of  that  devoted  minister  of  Jesus  Christ  have  passed  into 
the  religious  history  of  New  England — not  to  say  of  our  whole  country — 
and  no  student  of  that  history  is  unfamiliar  with  that  character  so  tried,  yet 
so  exalted  by  suffering ;  with  that  ministry  so  faithful,  so  unselfish,  marked 
by  such  yearning  for  souls,  and  with  such  persistence,  tact,  and  success  in 
leading  them  to  Christ ;  with  that  intellect  so  richly  endowed  and  so  well 
trained  ;  that  devotional  spirit  so  rapt,  that  conscience  so  acutely  sensitive 
with  that  life  so  fruitful  and  that  death  so  triumphant 

In  the  summer  of  1869  she  found  a  lovely  and  peaceful  retreat  among 
the  hills  of  Vermont.  There  arose  that  tasteful  home  with  which,  perhaps 
more  than  any  other  spot,  memory  loves  to  associate  her.  There,  for  ten 
happy  summers,  she  enjoyed  the  communion  with  Nature's  "visible  forms," 
and  heard  her  "various  language,"  and  felt  her  healing  touch  on  the  wea- 
ried brain  and  overstrung  nerves;  there,  as  I  think  she  would  have  wished, 
she  took  leave  of  earth  amid  the  pomp  and  flush  of  the  late  summer,  and 
gladly  ascended  to  the  eternal  sunshine  of  heaven  ;  and  there,  in  the  shadow 
of  the  giant  hills  which  "  brought  peace  "  to  her,  and  the  changing  moods 
of  which  she  so  loved  to  study,  her  ashes  await  the  morning  of  the  Resur- 
rection. 

In  reviewing  this  life  of  nearly  sixty  years,  we  find  its  keynote,  as  was 
said  at  the  outset,  in  the  thought  of  the  Christian  comforter.  We  see  in 
her  one  whom  God  commissioned,  so  far  as  we  can  judge,  to  bring  light 
and  comfort  to  multitudes,  and  whom  He  prepared  for  that  blessed  work 
by  peculiar  and  severe  discipline. 

There  is  nothing  in  which  ordinary  minds  are  more  commonly  mistaken 
than  in  their  estimate  of  suffering.  They  seem  often  unable  to  conceive  it 
except  in  its  association  with  appreciable  tragedies,  in  those  grosser  forms 
in  which  it  waits  upon  visible  calamity.  Such  do  not  know  that  the  heart 
IS  often  the  scene  of  tragedies  which  can  not  be  written,  and  that  there  are 
sufferings  more  subtle  and  more  acute  than  any  which  torture  the  nerve  or 
wring  the  brow.  Take  a  character  like  this  with  which  we  are  dealing ; 
combine  the  nature  to  which  love  was  a  necessity  of  being  with  those  higti 
and  pure  ideals  of  character  which  culled  cautiously  the  objects  of  affection  ; 
add  the  intense  sensitiveness  without  the  self-esteem  which  so  often  serves 
as  a  rock  of  refuge  to  the  most  sensitive  ;  add  the  sharply-cut  individuality 
which  could  only  see  and  do  and  express  in  its  own  way,  and  which,  there- 
fore, so  frequently  exposed  its  subject  to  the  misunderstanding  of  strangers 
or  of  unappreciative  souls  ;  crown  all  with  the  slern  conscientiousness  which 
would  not  compromise  the  truth  even  for  love's  sake,  and  the  exquisite  self- 


APPENDIX.  561 

reverence,  if  you  will  allow  the  expression,  which  hekl  the  regiun  of  religious 
enaction  as  iioly  ground,  and  which  regarded  the  attempt  to  open  or  to 
penetrate  the  inner  shrines  of  Christian  feeling  as  something  akin  to  sacri- 
lege—and blend  all  these  in  a  delicate,  highly-strung,  nervous  organization, 
and  you  have  the  elements  of  a  fearful  capacity  for  sufTering. 

Besides  this  capacity  for  suffering,  Mrs.  Prentiss  had  a  very  clear  cogni- 
tion of  the  sacred  office  of  sulTering,  and  of  its  relation  to  perfection  of 
character.  There  were  two  ideas  which  pervaded  her  whole  theory 
of  religious  experience.  The  one  was  that  whenever  God  has  special  work 
for  His  children  to  do.  He  always  fits  them  for  it  by  suffering.  She  had  the 
most  intense  conviction  of  any  one  I  ever  knew  of  the  necessity  of  suffering 
to  perfection  of  character  or  of  work.  Doubtless  there  have  been  others 
who  have  learned  as  well  as  she  its  value  as  a  purifying  and  exalting  power, 
but  very  few,  I  think,  who  have  so  early  and  so  uncompromisingly  taken 
thnt  truth  into  their  theory  of  Christian  education.  She  quoted  with  ap- 
proval the  words  of  Madame  Guyon,  that  "  God  rarely,  if  ever,  makes  the 
educating  process  a  painless  one  when  He  wants  remarkable  results." 
Such  must  drink  of  Christ's  cup  and  be  baptized  with  His  baptism.  Along 
with  this  went  another  and  a  complcmcntaiy  thought,  viz.,  that  as  God  pre- 
pares His  workmen  for  great  work  by  suffering,  so  there  is  another  class  of 
His  children  whom  He  does  not  find  competent  to  this  preparation  ;  who 
escape  much  of  the  conflict  and  suffering,  but  never  attain  the  highest  en- 
joyments or  fight  the  decisive  battles  of  time In  a  volume  of  Fene- 

lon's  Christian  Counsel,  which  was  one  of  her  favorite  closet  companions, 
this  passage  is  scored  :  God  "attacks  all  the  subtle  resources  of  self-love 
within,  especially  in  those  souls  who  have  generously  and  without  reserve 
delivered  themselves  up  to  the  operations  of  His  grace.  The  more  He 
would  purify  them,  the  more  He  exercises  them  interiorly."  And  she  has 
added  a  special  note  at  the  foot  of  the  page  :  "  He  never  forces  Himself  on 
ungenerous  souls  for  this  work." 

Along  with  this  went  the  thought  that  God's  discipline  was  intended  to 
make  not  only  models,  but  viinistcrs  ;  that  one  who  had  passed  through  the 
furnace  with  Christ  was  to  emerge  from  the  fiery  baptism  not  merely  to  be 
^azea  at,  but  to  go  down  to  his  brethren  telling  with  power  the  story  ol 
ihe  "  form  of  the  Fourth."  This  is  the  sentiment  of  some  lines  addressed 
by  her  to  an  afHictcd  friend  : 

"  O  that  this  heart  with  gjjef  so  well  acquainted 
Mij^ht  be  a  fountain,  rich  and  swccl  and  full, 
For  all  the  weary  that  have  fallen  and  fainted 
In  life's  parched  desert— thirsty,  sorrowful 

••  Thou  Man  of  5>orrows,  teach  my  lips  that  often 
Have  told  the  sacred  story  of  my  wOe, 
To  speak  of  Tliec  till  stony  Kriifs  I  soften — 

'I  ill  those  that  know  Thcc  nut,  learn  Thee  to  know." 

36 


562  APPENDIX. 

At  a  comparatively  early  period  of  her  Christian  experience,  the  theme 
of  her  prayer  was:  "  I  beseech  Thee,  show  me  Thy  glory";  for  in  the  an- 
swer to  that  prayer  there  seemed,  as  she  said,  to  be  summed  up  everything 
that  she  needed  or  could  desire.  In  a  paper  in  which  she  recorded  some 
of  her  aspirations,  she  wrote:  "Let  my  life  be  an  all-day  looking  to  Jesus. 
Let  my  love  to  God  be  so  deep,  earnest,  and  all-pervading,  that  I  can  not 
ha\e  even  the  passing  emotion  of  rebellion  to  suppress.  There  is  such  a 
thing  as  an  implicit  faith  in,  and  consequent  submission  to,  Christ.  Let  nie 
never  rest  till  they  are  fully  mine." 

I  do  not  know  the  precise  date,  but  I  think  it  could  not  have  been  very 
late  when  she  received  a  mighty  answer  to  the  prayer  to  behold  God's 
glory.  New  views  of  Christian  privilege  and  of  the  relation  of  Christ  to  be- 
lieving souls  came  with  prayerful  searching  of  the  Scriptures.  She  entered, 
to  use  her  own  vv^ords,  upon  "  a  life  of  incessant  peace  and  serenity — not- 
withstanding it  became,  by  degrees,  one  of  perpetual  self-denial  and  effort." 
The  consciousness  of  God  never  left  her.  The  whole  world  seemed  holy 
ground.  Prayer  became  a  perpetual  delight.  The  pride  and  turbulence  of 
nature  grew  quiet  under  these  gentle  influences,  and  anything  from  God's 
hand  seemed  just  right  and  quite  good. 

The  secret  of  her  peace  and  of  her  usefulness  lay  very  largely  in  the 
prayerfulness  of  her  life.  From  her  early  years,  prayer  was  her  delight.  In 
describing  the  comforts  of  her  chamber  in  the  school  at  Richmond,  she  no 
ted  as  its  crowning  charm  the  daily  presence  of  the  Eternal  King,  who  con- 
descended to  make  it  His  dwelling-place.  With  the  deeper  experiences  of 
which  we  have  spoken  came  a  fresh  delight  in  prayer.  "  It  was  very  de- 
lightful," see  says,  "to  pray  all  the  time;  all  day  long;  not  only  for  myself, 
but  for  the  whole  world — particularly  for  all  those  who  loved  Christ."  Her 
views  of  prayer  were  Scriptural,  and,  therefore,  discriminating.  She  fully 
accepted  Paul's  statement  that  "  we  know  not  what  we  should  pray  for  as 
we  ought "  without  the  help  of  the  Spirit ;  and,  therefore,  she  always  spoxe 
of  prayer  as  something  to  be  learned.  If  she  believed  that  a  Christian 
♦'  learns  to  pray  when  first  he  lives,"  she  believed  also  that  the  prayer  of 
the  infant  Christian  life  was  like  the  feeble  breath  of  infancy.  She  under- 
stood by  prayer  something  far  more  and  higher  than  the  mere  preferring  of 
petitions.  It  was  couummzon ;  God's  Spirit  responding  harmoniously  to 
our  own.  With  Coleridge  she  held,  that  the  act  of  praying  with  the  total 
concentration  of  the  faculties  is  the  very  highest  energy  of  which  the  human 
heart  is  capable.  Hence  she  was  accustomed  to  speak  of  learning  the 
mysterious  art  of  prayer  by  an  apprenticeship  at  the  throne  of  grace.  She 
somewhere  wrote :  "  I  think  many  of  the  difficulties  attending  the  subject  ol 
prayer  would  disappear  if  it  could  be  regarded  in  early  life  as  an  art  that 
must  be  acquired  through  daily,  persistent  habits  with  which  nothing  shall 
be  allowed  to  interfere."  She  saw  that  prayer  is  not  to  be  made  dependent 
on  the  various  emotive  states  in  which  one  comes  to  God.    "  The  question,* 


ArPENDIX.  563 

she  said,  "  is  not  one  of  more  dcliglit."  The  Roman  Cathohc  poet  accu* 
rately  expressed  her  thought  on  this  point : 

"  Prayer  was  not  meant  for  luxury, 
Nor  selfish  pastime  sweet ; 
It  is  the  prostrate  creature's  place 
At  the  Creator's  feet." 

She  ilhistrated  in  her  own  quaint  way  the  trutli  that  moods  have  nothing  to 
do  with  the  duty  of  prayer.  "  When  one  of  your  little  brothers  asks  you  to 
lend  him  your  knife,  do  you  inquire  first  what  is  the  state  of  his  mind?  II 
you  do,  what  reply  can  he  make  but  this  :  "  The  state  of  my  mind  is,  I  want 
your  knife." 

With  her  natural  temperament  and  inherited  tendencies  she  naight,  per- 
haps, under  other  influences  have  been  drawn  too  far  ov'er  to  the  emotional, 
or  at  least  to  the  contemplative  side  of  religious  life.  But  she  saw  and 
avoided  the  danger.  She  discerned  the  harmony  and  just  balance  between 
the  contemplative  and  the  active  Christian  life,  and  felt  that  they  ouglit  to 
co-exist  in  every  genuine  experience.  She  attached  as  little  meaning  to 
life  of  mere  raptures  as  to  one  of  bare,  loveless  duty.  "  Christian  life,"  she 
wrote,  "  is  not  all  contemplation  and  prayer;  it  is  not  all  muscle  and  sinew. 
It  is  a  perfect,  practicable  union  of  the  two.  I  believe  in  your  joyful  emo- 
tions if  they  result  in  self-denying,  patient  work  for  Christ — I  believe  in  your 
work  if  it  is  winged  by  f:iith  and  prayer."  She  had  scored  this  passage  in 
her  copy  of  Fenelon  :  "  To  be  constantly  in  a  state  of  enjoyment  that  takes 
away  the  feeling  of  the  cross,  and  to  live  in  a  fen'or  of  devotion  that  con- 
tinually keeps  Paradise  open — this  is  not  dying  upon  the  cross  and  bccomi'^g 
nothing." 

Such  experience  and  such  views  were  behind  the  active 'side  of  her 
life,  as  represented  by  her  personal  ministries  and  by  the  work  of  her  pen. 
The  one  book  in  which  she  endeavored  to  &mho(\)'  for  ma/ /y  her  views  of 
Christian  doctrine  and  experience  did  not,  as  might  have  been  expected, 
find  the  same  reception  or  the  same  response  which  were  accorded  to  other 
productions.  It  was  a  book  which  appealed  to  a  smaller  and  higher  class 
of  readers.  But,  when  she  wrought  these  same  truths  into  pictures  of  liv- 
ing men  and  women — when  she  illustrated  them  at  the  points  where  they 
touched  the  drudgery  and  conunonjiiace  of  thousands  of  lives — when  she 
opened  outlooks  for  hundreds  of  discouraged  souls  upon  the  roads  where 
hundreds  more  were  bearing  the  very  same  burdens,  and  yet  stcpjiing  lic.iv- 
enward  under  their  pressure — when  she,  who  had  walked  in  the  fiie  her- 
self, went  to  her  sisters  in  the  same  old  furnace  and  told  them  of  her  visior. 
of  the  form  of  the  Fourth— when  she  went  down  to  the  many  who  were 
sadly  working  out  the  mistakes  of  ill-judged  alliances,  and  lifted  the  veil 
from  soiTows  which  separate  their  subject  from  human  sympathy  because 
they  must  be  borne  in  silence— when  she  told  such  how  heaven  might  coma 


564  APPENDIX. 

• 
even  into  their  life — when  she,  with  her  hands  yet  bleeding  from  the  grasp 
of  her  own  cross,  came  to  other  sufferers,  not  to  mock  them  by  the  shov* 
of  an  unattainable  beauty  and  an  impossible  peace,  but  to  offer  them  divini 
peace  and  the  beauty  of  the  Lord  in  the  name  of  her  Saviour— then  she 
spoke  with  a  power  which  multitudes  felt  and  confessed. 

I  am  sure  that  hers  is,  in  an  eminent  degree,  the  blessing  of  them  that 
were  ready  to  perish.  Weary,  overtaxed  mothers  ;  misunderstood  and  un- 
appreciated wives,  servants,  pale  seamstresses,  delicate  women  forced  to 
live  in  an  atmosphere  of  drunkenness  and  coarse  brutality,  widows  and  or- 
phans in  the  bitterness  of  their  bereavement,  mothers  with  their  tears  drop- 
ping over  empty  cradles — to  thousands  of  such  she  was  a  messenger  from 
heaven. 

Of  all  her  seventeen  or  eighteen  published  volumes,  "  Stepping  Heaven- 
ward "  is  the  one  which  best  represents  her  and  her  life-work — not  that  she 
produced  nothing  else  of  value,  nor  that  many  of  her  other  books  were  not 
widely  read,  greatly  enjoyed,  and  truly  useful ;  but  "  Stepping  Heavenward  " 
seemed  to  meet  so  many  real,  deep,  inarticulate  cravings  in  such  a  multi- 
tude of  hearts,  that  the  response  to  it  was  instant  and  general 

She  wrote  for  readers  of  all  ages.  Not  the  least  fruitful  work  of  her  pen 
was  bestowed  upon  the  little  ones  ;  and  in  the  number  of  copies  circulated,  the 
Susy  Books  stand  next  to  Step])ing  Heavenward.  Through  those  little  half 
allegories  she  initiated  the  children  into  the  rudiments  of  self-control,  disci- 
pline and  consecration,  and  taught  eyes  and  hands  and  tongue  and  feet  the 
noble  uses  of  the  kingdom  of  God.  Even  from  these  children's  stories  the 
thought  of  the  discipline  of  suffering  was  not  absent,  and  Mr.  Pain,  as 
many  mothers  will  remember,  figures  among  Little  Susy's  Six  Teachers. 
With  the  same  pure  and  wholesome  lessons,  and  with  the  same  easy  vivacity 
she  appealed  to  youth  through  "  The  Flower  of  the  Family,"  "  The  Percys," 
and  "  Nidworth,"  and  it  would  be  hard  to  say  by  readers  of  what  age  was 
monopolised  the  interest  in  "Aunt  Jane's  Hero,"  "Fred  and  Maria  and 
Me,"  and  those  two  little  gems — "The  Story  Lizzie  Told,"  and  "  Gentleman 
Jim." 

While  all  her  writings  were  religious  in  the  best  sense,  they  were  in 
nothing  more  so  than  in  their  cheerfuhiess.  They  were  not  only  happy 
and  hopeful  in  their  general  tone,  but  sparkled  with  her  delicate  and 
sprightly  humor.  The  children  of  her  books  were  not  religious  puppets, 
moving  in  time  to  the  measured  wisdom  of  their  elders,  but  real  children 
of  flesh  and  blood,  acting  and  talking  out  their  impish  conceits,  and  in  no- 
wise conspicuous  by  their  precocious  goodness. 

I  think  that  those  who  knew  her  best  in  her  literary  relations,  will  agree 
with  me  that  no  better  type  of  a  consecrated  literary  talent  can  be  found  in 
the  lists  of  authors.  She  received  enough  evidences  of  popular  appreciation  to 
have  turned  the  heads  of  many  writers.  Over  200,000  bound  volumes  of  her 
books  have  been  sold  in  this  country  alone,  to  say  nothing  of  the  cii-culalion 


APPENDIX.  565 

in  England,  France,  and  Gcrniany.  She  was  not  displeased  at  success,  as 
I  suppose  no  one  is — but  success  to  her  meant  doing  good.  She  did  not 
write  for  popularity,  and  her  aversion  to  having  her  own  literary  work  men- 
tioned to  her  was  so  well  known  by  her  friends,  that  even  those  who  wished 
to  express  to  her  their  gratitude  for  the  good  they  had  received  from  her 
books  were  constrained  to  be  silent.  "  While,"  says  her  publisher,  "  she 
was  very  sensitive  to  any  criticism  based  on  a  misconception  or  a  perversion 
of  her  purpose,  never,  in  all  my  intercourse  with  her,  did  I  discover  the 
slightest  evidence  of  a  spirit  of  literary  piciue,  or  pride,  or  ambition." 

In  attempting  to  sum  uj)  the  characteristics  of  her  writings,  time  will 
suffer  me  only  to  stale  the  more  prominent  features  without  enlarging  upor 
details. 

First,  and  most  prominent,  was  their  purpose.  Her  pen  moved  always 
and  only  under  a  sense  of  duty.  She  held  her  talent  as  a  gift  from  God. 
and  consecrated  it  sacredly  to  the  enforcement  and  diffusion  of  His  truth. 
If  I  may  quote  once  more  the  words  of  her  publisher  in  his  tribute  to  her 
memory — "her  great  desire  and  determination  to  educate  in  the  highest 
and  best  schools  was  never  overlooked  or  forgotten.  She  never,  like  many 
writers  of  religious  fiction,  caught  the  spirit  of  sensationalism  that  is  in  the 
air,  or  sought  for  effects  in  unhealthy  portraiture,  corrupt  style,  or  unnatural 
combinations." 

Second,  she  was  uuconventiouah  Her  writings  were  not  religious  in  any 
stereotyped,  popular  sense.  Her  characters  were  not  stenciled.  The  holiest 
of  them  were  strongly  and  often  amusingly  individualized.  She  did  not  try 
to  make  automatons  to  repeat  religious  commonplaces,  but  actual  men  and 
women,  through  whose  very  peculiarities  the  Holy  Spirit  reveah^''  W^-^  ^^r,■^. 
ence  and  work. 

Third,  I  have  already  referred  to  her  sprij^htlincss.  She  had  n.nur.uiy 
a  keen  sense  of  humor  which  overflowed  both  in  her  conversation  and  in 
her  books.  She  saw  nothing  in  the  nature  of  the  faith  she  professed  which 
bade  her  lay  violent  hands  on  this  propensity  ;  and  she  once  said  that  if  her 
religion  could  not  stand  her  saying  a  funny  thing  now  and  then  it  was  not 
worth  much.  But,  whatever  she  might  say  or  write  of  this  character,  one 
never  felt  that  it  betrayed  any  irreverent  lightness  of  spirit.  The  undci- 
tone  of  her  life  was  so  deeply  reverential,  so  thoroughly  i>ervadct!  with 
adoring  love  for  Christ,  that  it  made  itself  felt  through  all  her  lighter  moods 
like  the  groiuid-swcll  of  the  sea  through  the  sparkling  rippKs  on  the  surf.K  e. 

Fourth,  her  style  was  easy,  colloquial,  never  stilled  or  atTectcd,  m.wkcd 
at  times  by  an  energy  and  incisivcness  which  betrayed  earnest  thought  and 
intense  feeling.  She  ainicd  to  impress  the  truth,  not  her  style,  and  there- 
fore aimed  at  plainness  and  directness.  Her  hard  common  sense,  of  which 
her  books  reveal  a  gooilly  share,  was  offset  by  her  viviii  fancy  which  made 
»ven  the  region  o{  fable  tributary  to  the  service  of  truth. 

Fifth,  her  books  were  intensely  personal ;  expressions.  I  mean,  of  hci 


566  APPENDIX. 

own  experience.  Many  of  her  characters  and  scenes  are  simple  transcripti 
of  fact,  and  much  of  what  she  taught  in  song,  was  a  repetition  of  what 
she  had  learned  in  suffering. 

To  go  back  once  more  to  her  office  of  consoler.  She  exercised  this  not 
only  through  her  books,  but  also  through  her  personal  ministries  in  those 
large  and  widening  circles  which  centred  in  her  literary  and  pastoral  life. 
Those  who  were  favored  with  her  friendship  in  times  of  sorrow  found  her 
a  comforter  indeed.  Her  letters,  of  which,  at  such  times,  she  was  prodigal, 
were  to  many  sore  hearts  as  leaves  from  the  tree  of  life.  She  did  not  ex- 
pect too  much  of  a  sufferer.  She  recognized  human  weakness  as  well  as 
divine  strength.  But  in  all  her  attempts  at  consolation,  side  by  side  with 
her  deep  and  true  sympathy,  went  the  lesson  of  the  harvest  of  sorrow.  She 
was  always  pointing  the  mourner  past  the  floods,  to  the  high  place  above 
them — teaching  him  to  sing  even  amid  the  waves  and  billows — "  the  Lord 
will  command  His  loving-kindness  ";  "  I  shall  yet  praise  Him  for  the  help 
of  His  countenance."  "  I  knew,"  she  v/rote  to  a  bereaved  friend,  "  that 
God  would  never  afflict  you  so,  if  He  had  not  something  beautiful  and  bliss- 
ful to  give  in  place  of  what  He  took."  The  insight  which  her  writings 
revealed  into  many  and  subtle  aspects  of  sorrow,  made  her  the  recipient  of 
hosts  of  letters  from  strangers,  opening  to  her  their  griefs,  and  asking  her 
counsel ;  and  to  all  she  gave  freely  and  joyfully  as  far  as  her  strength  and 
time  and  judgment  would  allow.  There  was  a  tonie  vein  mingling  with 
her  comforts.  Her  touch  was  firm  as  well  as  tender.  She  knew  the  shoals 
of  morbid  sentimentality  which  skirt  the  deeps  of  trouble,  and  sought  to 
Dilot  the  sorrowing  past  the  shoals  to  the  shore. 

And  now,  having  thus  spoken  of  her  preparation  for  God's  work,  the 
work  itself,  and  its  fruits,  how  can  we  gather  up  and  depict  the  many  per- 
sonal traits  and  associations  which  crowd  upon  the  memory ,''  Of  such 
things  how  many  are  incapable  of  reproduction,  their  fine  flavor  vanishing 
with  the  moment.  How  often  that  which  most  commends  them  to  remem- 
brance lies  in  the  glance  of  an  eye,  an  inflection  of  the  voice,  an  expression 
of  the  face,  which  neither  pen  nor  pencil  can  put  on  record. 

How  many  such  recollections,  for  example,  group  themselves  round  that 
beautiful  home  among  the  hills.  How  it  bore  her  mark  and  was  pervaded 
with  her  presence,  and  sremed,  more  than  any  other  spot,  the  appropriate 
setting  of  her  life.  Now  she  was  at  her  chamber  window  studying  the  ever 
shifting  lights  and  shadows  on  the  hills  ;  now  rambling  over  the  fields  and 
through  the  woods  and  returning  with  her  hands  laden  with  flowers  and 
grasses ;  now  busy  with  her  ferns  in  her  garden  ;  again  beguiling  the  hours 
with  her  pencil,  or  stealmg  away  to  develop  some  happy  fancy  or  fresh 
thought  on  which  her  mind  had  been  working  for  days.  And  how  pleasant 
her  talk.  How  she  would  dart  off  sometimes  from  the  line  of  the  gravest 
theme  into  some  quaint,  mirth-provoking  conceit  How  many  odd  things 
she  had  seen  ;  of  how  many  strange  adventures  she  had  partaken,  and  how 
graphically  and  charmingly  she  told  them.     With  what  relish  she  would 


APPENDIX.  567 

bring  forth  some  good  thing  saved  up  to  tell  to  one  who  would  nppreciaH 
it ;  yet,  on  the  other  hand,  how  earnestly,  how  intelligently,  with  what  sim. 
plicity,  with  what  eager  delight  would  she  pursue  the  discussion  ol  the  deep 
things  of  God.  Nor  was  her  home  merely  a  place  of  rest  and  retirement. 
Its  doors  were  ever  wide  open  to  congenial  spirits,  and  also  to  some  of 
Christ's  poor,  to  whom  the  healing  breath  of  the  mountains  and  the  rare 
sights  and  sounds  of  countr)-  life  were  as  gifts  from  heaven.  In  that  little 
community  she  was  not  content  to  be  a  mere  summer  idler.  Theie,  too, 
she  pursued  her  ministry  of  comfort  and  of  instruction.  Eternity  alone  will 
reveal  the  fruitage  of  the  seeds  she  sowed  in  her  weekly  Bible-reading,  to 
which  the  w^omen  came  for  miles  over  the  mountain  roads,  through  storm 
and  through  sunshine. 

And  here  the  end  came.  Death,  if  a  surprise  at  all  to  her,  could  only 
be  a  pleasant  surprise.  In  one  of  her  stories  an  old  family  servant  says  of 
her  departed  mistress  :  "  Often's  the  time  I've  heard  her  talk  about  dying, 
and  I  mind  a  time  when  she  thought  she  was  going,  and  there  was  a  light 
in  her  eye,  and  it  was  just  as  she  looked  when  she  said,  '  Maiy,  I'm  going 
to  be  married.'  "  It  was  a  leaf  out  of  her  own  life.  She  had  marked  in 
one  of  her  books  of  devotion  a  passage  which,  I  imagine,  summed  u;'  her 
view  of  the  w^hole  matter:  "A  true  Christian  is  neither  fond  of  life  nor 
weary  of  it."  She  had  no  sentimental  disgust  with  life,  but  her  overmas- 
tering desire  was  to  see  and  be  like  her  Lord,  and  death  was  the  entrance 
gate  to  that  perfect  vision.  Only  the  opening  of  that  portal  could  bring  the 
full  answer  to  her  prayer  of  years,  "  I  beseech  Thee,  show  me  Thy  glor).' 
In  this  attitude  the  messenger  found  her.     I  will  not  dwell  on  the  closing 

scenes It  is  pleasanler  to  turn  from  that  long,  weary  Sabbath,  when 

nature  in  its  perfect  beauty  and  repose  seemed  to  mock  the  bitter  agony  ol 
the  death-chamber,  to  the  hour  when,  with  the  first  full  brightness  of  the 
morning,  the  silver  cord  was  loosed,  and  she  was  present  with  the  Lord. 
Surely  it  was  something  more  than  an  accidental  coincidence  that,  in  the 
little  "  Daily  Food,"  which  for  nearly  forty  years  had  been  her  closet  com- 
panion, the  passage  for  the  13th  of  August  was:  "I  heard  a  voice  from 
heaven  saying  unto  me,  Write,  blessed  are  the  dead  which  die  in  the  Lord 
from  henceforth  :  yea,  saith  the  Spirit,  that  they  may  rest  from  their  labors; 
and  their  works  do  follow  them."  That  summer  afternoon  when  she  was 
laid  to  rest  had  a  brightness  which  was  not  all  of  the  glories  of  the  setting 
sun,  as  he  burst  forth  from  the  encircling  clouds,  and  touched  with  his 
partmg  splendor  the  gates  of  the  grave.  Nature,  with  its  fulness  of  sum- 
mer life,  was  set  in  the  key  of  the  resurrection  by  the  assurance  of  her  vic- 
tory over  death,  and  it  was  with  a  new  and  miglity  sense  of  their  truth  that 
we  spoke  over  her  ashes  the  words  of  the  Apostle  :  "  It  is  sown  in  corrup- 
tion, it  is  raised  in  incorrup-tion  ;  it  is  sown  in  dishonor,  it  is  raised  in  glory; 
it  is  sown  in  weakness,  it  is  raised  in  power ;  it  is  sown  a  natural  body,  it 
is  raised  a  spiritual  body.  O  death,  wl.eic  is  thy  sting?  O  grave,  where 
is  thy  victory  ?  " 


568  APPENDIX. 

So  now,  as  then,  more  even  than  then,  since  these  months  have  given 
us  time  to  study  the  lesson  of  that  life  and  the  sources  of  its  power,  we 
give  thanks  to  God  through  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord  ;  thanks  for  the  divine 
processes  which  moulded  a  daughter  of  consolation  ;  thanks  for  the  fount- 
ains of  comfort  opened  by  her  along  life's  highways  and  which  continue  to 
flow  while  she  sleeps  in  Jesus  ;  thanks  for  a  good  and  fruitful  life  ended 
*•  in  the  communion  of  the  Holy  Catholic  Church,  in  the  confidence  of  a 
certain  faith,  in  the  comfort  of  a  reasonable,  religious,  and  holy  hope,  in 
charity  with  all  mankind,  and  in  peace  with  God." 


I. 

A  List  of  Mrs.  Prentiss'  Writings,  with  notices  of  some  of  them  and  the 
dates  of  their  publication  ; 

1.  Little  Susy's  Six  Birthdays.     1853. 

2.  Only  a  Dandelion,  and  other  Stories.     1854. 

The  first  piece,  from  which  the  little  book  takes  its  name,  was  written  at  the  time, 
and  is  not  excelled  by  anything  of  the  kind  written  by  Mrs.  Prentiss.  Spring  Breeze  is 
as  fresh  and  delicate  as  a  May  flower.  The  other  stories  are  mostly  a  selection  from  her 
early  contributions  to  The  Youth's  Companion. 

3.  Henry  and  Bessie  ;  or,  What  they  did  in  the  Country.     1855. 

4.  Little  Susy's  Six  Teachers.     1856. 

5.  Little  Susy's  Little  Servants.     1856. 

The  three  Little  Susy  books  were  republished  in  England,  where  they  seem  to  have 
been  as  popular  among  the  children  as  at  home.  Not  far  from  50,000  copies  have  been 
sold  in  this  country. 

6.  The  Flower  of  the  Fajnily.     A  Book  for  Girls,     1S56. 

This  work  has  had  a  wide  circulation  at  home  and  abroad.  Some  19,000  copies  have 
been  sold  here.     The  following  is  the  title-page  of  one  of  the  French  editions  : 

Le  Fleur  de  La  Famille 

ou 

Simple  Histoire  pour  Les 

Jeunes  Filles. 


Ouvrage  Americain. 


Cinquieme  Edition. 


Toulouse, 

Society  des  Livi-es  Religieux. 

1877. 


APPENDIX.  569 

Die  Perle  der  Familie  is  the  German  title.  Here  are  a  few  sentences  from  a  hiphly 
laudatory  notice  in  the  well-known  "  Neue  Preuss.  Zeitimg"  : 

In  ausserordentlicher  lieblicher  und  siniiigcr  Weise  win!  uns  ein  hitiisliches.  schlichtes, 
von  cdlcm  Clirisllichen  Sinn  gctragcncs  Familicn-lcbcn  forncfuhrt,  da*  durch  seine  treflliche 
Characterschilderung  unscr  Icbliaflcstos  Iiitcrcssc  fiir  jcdes  C.licd  dcs  kinderrcirhen  Hausn  io 
Anspruch  nimmt.     Es  ist  im  cigciitliclisien  Sinne  ein  Huch  flir  die  Fatnilic. 

The  Floiver  0/ the  /^Vz;;///)- was  translated  inloGerman,— as  were  also  Stefping  I/faxf- 
enward.  The  Percys^  Fred  and  Maria  and  Jft",— by  Miss  Marie  MorKt-nstem,  of  GOlliD- 
gen.  Some  omissions  in  the  version  of  Stepping  J/eavenivard  mar  a  little  the  vivacity  of 
the  book ;  but  otherwise  her  work  seems  to  have  been  very  carefully  and  well  done,  and 
to  have  met  wiili  the  warm  approval  of  the  German  public. 

7.  Petcrchen  ufui  Gretchcn  ;  or.  Talcs  of  Etxrly  Childhood.     18C0. 
This  is  a  translation  from  the  German. 

8.  The  Little  Preacher.     1867. 

One  of  the  most  striking  of  her  smaller  works.  It  has  throughout  the  flavor  of  Ger« 
man  peasant  life  and  of  the  Black  Forest.  But  it  seems  never  to  have  found  its  way 
across  the  sea. 

9.  Little  Threads :  or.  Tangle  Thread,  Silver  Thread,  ind  Jolden 
Thread.     1S68. 

The  aim  of  Little  Threads  is  happily  indicated  in  its  closing  sentences : 
If  you  find  that  you  like  to  have  your  own  way  a  good  deal  better  than  you  like  your  mamma 
to  have  hers  ;  if  you  pout  and  cry  when  you  can  not  do  as  you  please  ;  if  you  never  own  that 
you  are  in  tlie  wrong,  and  arc  sorry  for  it  ;  never,  in  short,  try  with  all  your  might  to  be  docile 
and  gentle,  then  your  name  is  Tangle  Thread,  and  you  may  depend  you  cost  your  mamma  many 
sorrowful  hours  and  many  tears.  And  the  best  thing  you  can  do  is  to  go  away  by  yourself  and 
pray  to  Jesus  to  make  you  see  how  naughty  you  are,  and  to  make  you  bumble  and  sorr>'.  Then 
the  old  and  soiled  thread  that  can  be  seen  in  your  mother's  life  will  disappear,  and  in  its  place 
there  will  come  first  a  silver,  and  by  and  by,  with  time  and  patience,  and  God's  loving  help,  .a 
sparkling  and  beautiful  golden  one.  And  do  you  know  of  anything  in  this  world  you  should 
rather  be  than  Somebody's  Golden  Thread  ?— especially  the  Golden  Thread  of  your  dear 
mamma,  who  has  loved  you  so  many  years,  who  h.is  prayed  for  you  so  many  yean,  and  who 
longs  so  to  sec  you  gentle  and  docile  like  Him  of  whom  it  was  Mid  :  "  Dchold  the  Latnb  oi 
God!" 

Uttle  Threads  is  based  upon  a  very  keen  obscr\'ation  of  both  the  dark  and  the  bright 
side  of  childhood.  The  allegory,  in  which  its  lessons  are  wrought,  is,  perhaps,  less  sim- 
ple and  attractive  than  that  of  Little  Susy's  Six  Teachers,  or  tJiat  of  Littte  Susy's  Li///* 
Servants;  but  the  lessons  themselves  arc  full  of  the  sweetest  wisdoin,  pallios,  ai>d 
beauty. 

10.  Little  Lou  s  Sayings  and  Doings.     1868. 

Among  the  papers  of  her  sister,  Mrs.  Prentiss  found  a  journal  containing  numerom 
Utile  incidents  in  the  early  life  of  her  only  child,  together  with  more  or  less  of  his  U-»)ish 
sayings.  Much  of  the  material  found  in  this  journal  was  uso<l  in  the  composition  of  Ut- 
ile Iu)u  ,  and  that  is  one  thing  that  gives  it  such  an  air  of  perfect  reality. 

11.  Fred  and  Maria  and  Me.     1 868. 

12.  TJie  Old  Brenun  Pitcher.     1 868. 

This  is  a  temperance  tale.  It  was  written  at  the  request  of  the  National  Temperanca 
Society  and  ii-ucd  for  their  press. 


570  APPENDIX. 

13.  Stepping  HciVjen-Juard.     1869. 

Some  interesting  details  respecting-  thi^  work  have  been  given  alreadv.  Its  circtilatioi 
has  been  ven.-  large,  both  at  honae  and  abroad  ;  far  greater  than  that  of  any  otlier  of  Mrs, 
Prentiss'  books.  More  than  67,000  copies  of  it  have  been  sold  in  this  country  ;  while  in 
England  it  was  issued  by  several  houses,  and  tens  of  thousands  of  copies  have  been  sold 
there,  in  Canada,  in  Australia,  and  in  other  parts  of  the  British  domiaions. 

Among  the  English  houses  that  republished  Staffing  Heave nzvard,  were  James 
Nisbet  &  Co.  ;  Ward,  Lock  &  Co.  ;  Frederick  Wame  &  Co.  :  Thomas  Kelson  &  Sons, 
London  and  Edinburgh  ;  Milner  &  Co.  :  Weldon  &  Co.  An  edition  by  the  last-named 
house,  neatly  printed  and  intended  specially  for  circulation  in  Canada  and  Australia, 
as  well  as  at  home,  was  sold  at  fivepence,  so  that  the  very  poorest  could  buy  it.  No 
acvT'jate  estimate  can  be  formed  of  the  nimaber  of  copies  circulated  in  Great  Britain 
and  its  dependencies,  but  it  must  have  been  enormous.  It  was  also  issued  at  Leipsic,  by 
Tauchnitz,  in  his  famous  "  Collection  of  British  Authors."  The  German  translation  hai- 
already  passed  into  a  fourth  edition — a  remarkable  proof  of  its  popularity.  In  the  preface 
to  this  edition  Miss  Moi^enstem,  the  translator,  says  :  "  So  m5ge  sie  denn  hinausziehen 
in  die  Welt,  diese  vierte  Auflage,  moge  wiederum  aufklopfen  an  die  Stuben  und  Herzen- 
thuren  der  deutschen  Lesewelt,  und  nachdem  ihr  aufgethan,  hineintragen  in  die  Stuben  und 
Herzen,  was  ihre  Vorgangerinnen  hineintrugen: — Freude  vmd  Rath  imd  Trost."  Nowhere 
has  the  work  won  higher,  or  more  discriminating,  praise  than  in  Germany,  The  follow- 
ing extract  from  one  of  the  critical  notices  of  it  may  serve  as  an  instance  : 

In  Form  von  Tagebiich — Aufzeichnungen,  somit  Selbstbekenntnissen,  \vird  uns  das  Leben 
einer  Frau  erzahlt,  -welche — ohne  andere  dussere  Schickungen  freudiger  und  tr'uber  Art.  als 
sie  in  jedem  Leben  vorzukcmmen  pflegen — aus  einem  zwar  gutartigen  und  wohlbegabten  abe» 
auiserst  reizbaren  und  leidenshaftlich.  erregten  Madchen  zu  einer  gelauterten  Jiicgerin  des 
Hirm  heranreift.  Was  aber  dies  Buch  zu  einem  wahren  Klcinod  macht,  das  ish  nicht  die  iiber- 
aus  wahre  und  tiefe  Analyse  jener  menschlichen  Siinde.  Siindenschwachheit.  und  Eitelkeit,  die 
sicb  auch  in  die  friJmmsten  Regungen  einoschleicben  sucht,  sondem  die  Angabe  des  wahren 
Heilmittels.  Der  goldne  Faden  namlicb.der  sich  durcb  das  ganze  Buch  zieht,  ist  die  Wahrheit ; 
Nicht  uKjer  Rennen  und  Lanfen,  sondern  Sein  Erbarmen  !  Nicht  wir  haben  Jkn  geliebt, 
sondem  Er  hat  uns  geliebt,  und  daran  haben  "juir  kindlich  zu  gLiuhen.     Sich  Jhm  an  Stin 

Herz  werfen  mit  all  unsern  Schwachen.  all  unser  Armuth — das  a'ir^t^a^  das  isf  Heilung 

Das  Ganze  ist  im  hiichsten  Grade  fesselnd.  Man  lebt  sich  unwiUkiirlich  in  dies  christlich« 
Hauswesen  mit  ein,  und  glaubt  in  \-ielen  Ziigea  einen  Spiegel  des  eigenen  zu  erkeimen.' 

The  title-page  of  the  French  translation  is  as  follows  : 

MARCHAXT 

VERS   LE   CIEL. 

par 

E.  Prentiss. 

Auteur  de  La  Fleur  de  la  FamilU,  etc. 

Traduit  de  L'Anglais  avec 

L'Autorization  de  L'Auteur. 

Lausanne : 

Georges  Bridel,  Editeur. 

The  following  extract  from  a  letter  of  Madame  de  Prcssens^,  dated  Paris,  July  18, 
18&2,  vsill  show  what  impression  the  work  made  not  only  upon  the  gifted  and  acc<>n> 

*  Allgemeiner  Uterarischer  Anzeiger  fur  das  evangelische  Deutscliland.  Jan.,  1S73. 


APPENDIX.  571 

pHshed  writer,  but  upon  many  other  of  the  most  cultivated  Christian  women  of  France 
and  Switzerland  : 

C'est  un  livre  qui  fait  aimer  celle  qui  y  a  mis  son  dme,  une  ttude  du  coeur  humain 
bien  vraie  et  bicn  delicate.  L'amour  de  Dieu  dtborde  dans  ses  pages  charmantes,  dont 
la  lecture  rechauffe  le  cueur.  Je  crcis  qu'il  a  ete  fort  apprecii  dans  nos  pays  dc  langue 
fran<;aise.  Une  personne  dont  touie  la  vie  est  un  service  de  ceux  qui  soulfrenl  nie  disait 
I'autre  jour  :  "  C'est  7nofi  livre,  il  m'a  fait  beaucoup  de  bien." 

Le  nombre  d'editions  qu'a  atleint  la  traduction  fran(;aise  temoi{;ne  qu'il  a  eu  du  succes. 
et  je  suis  sCire  que  beaucoup  de  personnes  ont  prefere,  avec  raison,  le  lire  dans  Torij^inai. 

Je  suis  heureuse  que  vous  m'avez  donne  I'occasion  de  le  relire,  et  d'en  epruuver  de 
Douveau  la  bienfaisante  influence 

Ce  serait  un  vrai  privilejje  de  pouvoir  faire  connaitre  d  notre  public  fran<;ais  cette 
femme  aussi  distin£,'uce  par  le  coeur  que  par  I'esprit,  que  nous  aimons  tous. 

14.  Nidworth,  and  his  three  Magic  Wands.     1869. 

The  three  Magic  Wands  are  :  Riches,  Knowledge,  and  Love  ;  and  in  depicting  their 
peculiar  and  wonderful  virtues  Mrs.  Prentiss  has  wrought  into  the  story  with  much 
skill  her  own  theory  of  a  happy  life.  She  wrote  the  book  with  intense  delight,  and  ita 
strange,  weird-like  scenes  and  characters  —  the  home  in  the  forest;  Dolman,  the  poor 
woodcutter ;  Cinda,  his  tall  and  strong-minded  wife ;  Nidworth,  their  fn-st-bom ; 
wandering  llidda,  boding  ill-luck;  the  hermit;  these  and  all  the  rest — scenK'd  to  her, 
for  a  while,  almost  as  real  as  if  she  had  copied  them  from  life. 

Its  publishers  (Roberts  Brothers)  pronounced  Nidivorth  "a  gem "  and  were  not  a 
little  surpiised  at  its  failure  to  strike  the  popular  fancy.  It  certainly  contains  some  of 
Uie  author's  brightest  pictures  of  hfe  and  character. 

15.  The  Percys.     1870. 

This  work  was  translated  into  French  and  Gesman,  and  won  warm  praise  in  both 
languages.  It  is  full  of  spirit,  depicts  real  boys  and  girl"  and  a  loving  Christian  mother 
with  equal  skill,  and  abounds  in  the  best  lessons  of  domestic  peace. 

16.  The  Story  Lizzie  Told.     1870. 

17.  Six  Little  Princesses  atid  what  they  turned  into.     1871. 

No  one  of  Mrs,  Prentiss'  lesser  wurlcs  betrays  a  keener  insight  into  character  or  a  finer 
touch  than  this.  Its  aim  is  to  illustrate  the  truth  that  all  girls  are  endowed  with  iheir 
own  individual  talents;  and  to  enforce  the  twofold  lesson,  that  the  diligent  use  of  these 
talents,  on  the  one  hand,  can  furnish  innocent  pleasures  beyond  the  reach  of  any  outward 
position,  however  brilliant ;  and,  on  the  other,  is  the  best  preparation  for  the  day  ol 
adversity. 

The  closing  sentences  of  tlie  story  will  give  an  inkling  of  its  aim  and  cjuality  : 

"  I  see  how  it  is,"  s.iid  the  Comitcss.  "  Voii  must  live  to;;cther.  KacJi  fccl»  licr.clf  incom- 
plete without  the  others.  Novcll.i  needs  soincbody  to  t.ikc  c.-»re  of  her  .ind  somebody  to  love. 
In  return,  she  wdl  give  love  and  endless  entertainment.  Rcima,  loo,  needs  looking  after,  and 
some  one  will  watch  with  a  friendly  eye  the  growth  of  her  paintings.  Our  two  mu.Nician*  mu»i 
tot  bcco.-ni  one-sided  by  thinking  only  of  melody  and  song.  They  must  enjoy  being  doihrd 
by  Moina's.  kind  hands,  listening  to  Novcll.Vs  poems,  and  discussing  Rcima's  works.  Aud  you 
must  train  all  your  ears  to  appreciate  the  talents  of  these  two  marvellous  creatures  who  liaif  and 
play  with  such  rare,  such  exquisite  harmony." 

"And  what  shall  I  do?"  cried  Dclicieusc. 

"  You  jhall  do  a  little  of  everything,  dear  child.  You  shall  help  Moina  to  guide  the  huusc.  and 
Reima  to  mix  the  colors.  You  sluili  i.ike  care  tliat  the  piano  is  never  out  of  tune,  or  Novella  at 
R  loss  for  pens  and  p.ipcr.  In  a  word,  you  shall  be  what  you  always  have  been,  alwayr.  ready 
with  the  oil  uf  gladness,  wherever  you  sec  friction,  the  swcciol,  the  most  lovable  ciciiiurc  in  lb« 
world." 


572  APPENDIX. 

Dclicieuse  smiled,  and  ran  to  embrace  all  her  sisters,  hardly  knowing  which  she  loved  test. 

It  was  not  long  before  those  royal  maidens,  royal  only  in  their  virtues  and  their  tslents 
found  themselves  in  a  home  in  a  vine-clad  land,  where  each  could  live  as  Nature  had  designee 
she  should  live. 

Rloina,  whose  practical  skill  was  not  confined  to  her  needle,  kept  the  house  with  such  exq\iis- 
ite  care  and  neatness,  that  her  sisters  preferred  it  to  a  palace.  She  found  happiness  in  forgetting 
herself,  in  her  pride  in  them,  and  in  the  freedom  from  petty  cares  from  which  she  chit  Med  them. 
Her  calm,  serene  character  was  a  continual  repose  to  the  varying  moods  of  Reima  and  Novella  ; 
a  balance-wheel  to  works  that,  running  fast,  often  ran  irregularly.  Reima  studied  the  old  mas- 
ters with  no  need  for  further  travel,  for  her  home  lay  among  their  works. 

Mosella  and  Papeta  composed  music,  made  Delicieuse  listen  to  and  admire  it  when  other 
hearers  were  wanting,  and  were  satisfied  with  her  criticisms. 

Novella  wrote  books,  and  had  her  frenzies.  She  had  her  gentle  and  her  gay  moods,  also,  and 
made  laughter  ring  through  the  house  at  her  will.  Not  one  of  these  four  was  conscious  of  her 
powers,  or  aiked  for  fame.  Nor  did  their  aristocratic  breeding  make  them  ashamed  to  work  for 
their  bread.  They  even  fancied  that  bread  thus  won,  needed  less  butler  to  help  it  down,  than 
that  of  charity. 

As  to  Delicieuse,  she  was  the  bright,  the  golden  link  that  bound  the  household  together  in 
peace  and  harmony.  Her  smiles,  her  caresses,  the  love  that  flowed  forth  from  her  as  from  a  liv- 
ing fountain,  made  their  home  glad  with  perpetual  sunshine.  Thank  God  for  the  gifts  of  genius 
He  has  scattered  abroad  with  a  bountiful  hand  ;  but  thank  Him  also  that,  without  such  gifts, 
one  may  become  a  joy  and  a  benediction  ! 

18.  A imt  Janes  Hfro.     1 8 7 1 . 

This  work  was  at  once  republished  in  England  and  appeared  also  in  a  French  version. 

19.  Golden  Hours :  Hymns  a?id' Songs  of  the  Christian  Life.     1873, 

Several  of  the  pieces  in  this  volume  had  already  appeared  ;  among  them  "  More  Love 
to  Tliee,  O  Christ."  This  hymn  has  passed  into  most  of  the  later  collections.  It  was 
translated  into  Arabic,  and  is  sung  in  the  land  once  trodden  by  the  blessed  feet  cf  Him 
whose  name  it  adores,  and  throughout  the  East. 

20.  Urbane  and  His  Friends.     1 874. 
This  work  was  reprinted  in  England. 

21.  Griselda  :  A  Dramatic  Poem  i'l  Five  Acts.  Translated  from  the 
German  of  Friedrich  Halm  (Baron  Miinch-Bellinghausen).     1876. 

Mrs.  Prentiss  supposed  that  hers  was  the  first  English  version  of  this  poem.  But 
there  is  a  translation  by  Sir  R.  A.  Anstruther,  which  appeared  in  London  as  early  as 
1840  and  in  a  new  edition  four  years  later.  All  attempts  to  obtain  a  copy  of  this  trans- 
lation in  New  York,  or  from  London,  have  proved  futile. 

22.  The  Home  at  Grey  tot /c.     1876. 

The  following  extract  from  a  letter  of  the  author  of  the  French  translation  to  Mrs. 
Prentiss  deserves  a  place  here  : 

Madame, — Vous  savez  sans  donte  que,  sans  votre  autorisation,  une  plume,  bicn  bardie  peiit- 
ttre,  mais  pleinc  de  zele  et  de  respect  pour  vous,  s'est  mise  il  traduire  un  dc  vos  ouvrages,  "  The 
Home  at  Greylock."  Sans  votre  autorisation  !  Etait-ce  bien  ?  etait-ce  mal  ?  Je  ine  le  snia 
demandt^  plus  d'une  fois  et  je  vous  I'aurais  demande,  Madame,  si  j'avais  su  votre  adiesse  asscz 
t6t. 

L'dditeur  m'a  mis  la  conscience  a  I'aise  en  m'assurant  que  le  droit  dtait  le  mcme  po ar  tcus,  et 
que  les  auteurs  americains  ne  pouvaient  conct^der  de  privildge  d  qui  que  ce  fut.  Forte  de  cette 
assurance,  je  me  mis  4  I'ceuvre,  mais  j'avoue  que  j'eus  besoin  d'encouragements  rditerds  pour 
mener  mon  travail  d  bonne  fin.  Encore  un  mot  d'explication,  si  vous  le  pcrmittez,  Madame,  Je 
ne  suis  pas  mere,  mais  je  suis  tante  ;  j'ai  vu  naitre  mes  neveux  et  nieces,  je  les  ai  bercds  dans  mes 
bras,  j'ai  veilld  siir  Icnrs  premiers  pas,  j'ai  obscrvd  le  deveioppement  graduel  de  leur  cceur  el  d« 


APPENDIX. 


573 


leui  intclligrr.cc,  j'ai  senti  i  fon«l  combicn  I'oeuvrc  de  IV-ducation  «|  s^ririi^e  ct  c«»ir.h:cn  il  im. 
portc  d'lJirc  ui'.cIpUnd  soi-moinc  par  le  Seigneur  jKiiir  distiplincr  Ics  pclit&  confufs  i  no»  soins.  II 
n'est  done  pas  t-lonnant  que  votre  livrc  m'.-iit  vivcmcnt  int«*ress«<c  ct  ipie  j'aie  voulu  Ic  mciirc  i 
la  portee  d'un  grand  nonjbre.  Ccia  cui  etc  fail  tOt  ou  lard  par  d'autrcs,  jc  ne  I'ignorc  jKjint , 
mais  j'avais  en  vie  d'cssaycr  mcs  forces,  el  ...  .  I'occasion  a  fail  Ic  l^irron.  Ne  scnc/-vous  yzt 
ma  complice,  Madame?  .... 

M'appuyant  sur  votre  bicnvcillame  el  sur  la  fraternili  qui  unit  les  finic*  dans  !e  Seigneur  je 
vous  pric,  Madame,  dc  nc  pas  me  considorcr  conimc  unc  olrangcrc  el  d'agri-cr  rexprcssicn  do 
mon  cstimc  ct  mcs  vocux  en  Christ. 

23.  Piinaquid ;  a  Story  of  Old  Times  in  New  En<rlatui.     1877. 

24.  Gentleman  Jim.     1878. 

This  little  st<.r)'  was  the  last  production  of  licr  pen  and  appeared  a  few  days  nnly 
after  her  death. 

25.  Ai^is  Benson  ;  or,  Mine  and  Thine,  ".i'ith  other  Sketehes.    1S79. 
This  is  a  collection  of  pieces  that  had  already  appeared  in  the  Chicago  Advance  and 

In  the  New  York  Observer.  It  met  with  a  cordial  welcome  and  has  had  a  large  circula- 
tion. 

Some  of  the  readers  of  Mrs.  Prentiss'  books  may  be  glad  to  see  a  specimen  of  he 
handwrilin;;:.  The  following:  is  a  fac-similc  of  the  closing  part  of  a  letter  to  her  cousin, 
Miss  Shipman,  written  at  Dorset  in  1S67 : 


V^x^^*—   -yi^  ^ 


L^ 


•^ 


^m 


/y 


T\^^;-^ 


